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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28417155">One Thing Leads to Another</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenmemento/pseuds/brokenmemento'>brokenmemento</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Awkward Tension, F/F, Feelings Realization, Marriage, Meet the "family" (Witcher style), Sexual Tension, Tissaia does not like Geralt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 18:14:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>21,088</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28417155</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenmemento/pseuds/brokenmemento</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Yennefer has agreed to marry Geralt and needs help getting ready for the event. Who else should she turn to than the one person she is closest to in life? Tissaia, however, is not amused and generally drags her feet through all the preparations, leaving Yennefer to question what exactly has gotten into the Rectoress.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tissaia de Vries &amp; Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Tissaia de Vries/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>136</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Part I: The News and The Bann</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Yennefer remembers. She can still recall even the most minute of details decades after they’ve happened. The exact way she’d felt when she was sent to the stables and barns to spend her time, no longer worthy for warmth or a dependable roof over her head. She can still look back and see the seething disgust in the man’s eyes she’d been forced to call father. The way her chest had been light when someone finally showed her something fucking good, something other than scorn or dismissal. </p><p>And Yennefer relives every single second of the way Tissaia’s face had once turned to an expression she had never seen the woman hold. The one she’d gained after Yennefer had shared her plans: she was to be married to Geralt. </p><p>In all of her life, she’s never seen the woman look the way she did then. A mixture of things that are still not always the easiest to discern when it comes to matters of the brain (and heart). Nothing that she knew then to assign an emotion to. The expression was as cryptic as the woman who wore it. </p><p>Only now? Now Yennefer knows what that look meant, what depth there was awaiting behind it. Now, Yennefer knows the truth. </p><p>And as the saying goes: sometimes that can set a person free. Yennefer closes her eyes as everything comes back again. She touches the stilled hand beside her on the bed, one that’s given her great grief, great strife. One that tore down her dreams and built them up again. </p><p>Yennefer, for the first time in her life, is finally free. </p><p>——-////——-</p><p>She’s been on another jaunt across the continent. Only this go-around, she’s met up with <em> him </em> again. </p><p>It was inevitable really. For as big as the world sometimes feels, it’s incredibly small too. The same faces keep popping up the more she travels, so his being one of them was just a matter of time. Only this time, he was followed by another one that Yennefer ascertained was his child surprise. </p><p><em> At least he made good on it,</em> she’d thought then. Not exactly a fool per se, but the man had a way of finding himself in rather sticky situations. Such must be the life of a witcher though. Always running toward problems and never away from them. </p><p>And, of course, like a vulture, he had circled. Not one to let Yennefer have the upper hand in any regard, he’d ambled up as if they’d been old friends parted by miles and time. She’d scoffed and rolled her eyes, he had said little to nothing as he blazed his yellow eyes onto her. </p><p>So again, inevitability struck when she’d thrown her annoyance to the wayside, golden dragon and djinn be damned, and fallen into bed with him once more. Always tied together, always tethered. Like a children’s toy on a string, she was destined to follow not far behind him. Or near him. </p><p>Whatever the case, the old familiarity of it snatched her up like a whirlwind. The footsteps felt comfortable to be in, him somewhere beside her on her arm. Sort of like putting on a favorite dress from years past to find it still fit, that it still looked and felt good. </p><p>Time did what it always does: changed the way of things. In Yennefer’s case with Geralt, it endeared her to the man of few words a little more than it ever had. </p><p>Because with each setting of the sun and rising of the moon, she began to imagine a life where the two of them (and sometimes the three) would have a sprawling villa overlooking orchards of trees. That the same sun that had set the day before would beat down upon them all in endless happiness. That Yennefer could leisurely relax and feel the breeze rustling the dark strands of her hair to dance on the currents, that she could read and find some type of normal—the likes of which she had never experienced before. </p><p>It had to be all of this, of something more too, that had her looking into those feline-like eyes of his as they watched a ceremony of binding between a couple during one of their quests across the lands. That had her feeling downright awe as he’d managed to ask, <em> Is that something you would like someday, Yen? </em>That had her saying yes, to her agreeing to it with him. </p><p>The bare-bones outline of that something that the morning turned concrete, feasible. Almost tangible too, that Yennefer and Geralt were to be married. </p><p>Which is why Yennefer finds herself sitting in the large room at Aretuza, fiddling with some knick-knack or another that seems far too whimsical for the woman it belongs to. She sits in wait, touching each object atop the wood grain surface with catlike curiosity. A bunch of tiny little things to remember. </p><p>Her pilfering is brought to a close when the large doors behind her open and in strides the picture of poise and grace. Yennefer is immediately struck by two twin emotions: chagrin and wonder. For as much as the small woman in front of her has incensed her beyond belief for the bulk of her life, Yennefer would be remiss to admit that she’s always been a little taken with her as well.</p><p>Tissaia looks unsurprised and judging by the thin line her lips create, thoroughly unamused with Yennefer’s sudden appearance in her study. </p><p>“There are ways of contacting me that do not require breaking and entering.” Her tone is dismissive, without much warmth. Yennefer would be carved up if she hadn’t already adapted to this long ago. </p><p>Tissaia de Vries, always thinking she is the grandest and most important in a room. That whatever she has going on usurps anything else the world surrounding her might also have to occur concurrently. </p><p>Being the chaotic shit that she is, Yennefer has always tried to disrupt this at every avenue she can. To try and make the woman of poise and grace falter a bit in her reserve. What Yennefer says seems to do quite the trick. </p><p>“I’m betrothed to be wedded and figured you needed to be aware of such an occasion,” Yennefer tells her with a wistful air. </p><p>As if it’s the same as needing a dress mended or stating that she’s eaten too much at a meal. Like any old thing even though it is the biggest thing Yennefer has ever contemplated doing in her life. </p><p>Which is the precise time that Tissaia’s body goes stark still and her face gets that twitchy and unreadable expression that Yennefer will never forget in all of her days. Because it’s unlike anything she’s ever seen on the other woman.</p><p>“I do not have time for flights of fancy or jokes, Yennefer. You know as well as I do that you are not one to be tied down in any regard.” Tissaia busies herself with the papers on her desk, moving letters and notes as she halfway scans them. (She’s unfocused, Yennefer can tell. It must be driving her mad.)</p><p>“And yet, here I am, telling you that there is to be a small ceremony next month in which I will bind my life to that of Geralt,” Yennefer stands and places both of her palms face down on Tissaia’s desk. </p><p>The rectoress casts her eyes upward, looking at them. Yennefer watches her body release a small sigh. “So that’s his name, is it?”</p><p>It’s a benign question because Tissaia <em> already </em> knew of the witcher. Yennefer suspects she’s speaking it to become familiar with the idea of him now that his existence is more concrete, at least in Yennefer’s life. And since they will have to meet finally if she is truly to give Yennefer away. </p><p>“It seems that every time we are together, you are telling me no about something. No ascension, no Aedirn, no enchantment, no hope for the world unless I help you fight and almost die on a hill,” Yennefer ticks off on her fingers, gives Tissaia a rueful look. </p><p>“Which has hardly deterred you at all,” Tissaia snaps, placing both of her hands on her hips. Not in front of her laced together. Yennefer’s lips quirk. <em> Good </em>. </p><p>“I do love to go against all rhyme or reason,” Yennefer gives a salty smile.</p><p>“Of course. You’ll probably even go through with this charade in one of the churches popping up all over the continent,” is the withering retort. </p><p>Yennefer scoffs. “Gods, I like to go against the grain, not depart from sanity completely. They’d probably burn me for heresy, for being mage, for getting plowed before wedlo…”</p><p>“That’s quite enough!” Tissaia snips out, cutting her off. “You speak of tradition yet dismiss it the next. Why abide to it at all? If you and…” Yennefer watches her swallow, a curious type of action. “Geralt have already coupled, if you have consented to him, are you not already wed in the eyes of the land?”</p><p>“Of course I have consented. That is why I am here,” Yennefer says like it’s obvious that the first place she would go with news of her betrothal is to Aretuza. </p><p>“To tell me of your upcoming marriage,” Tissaia nods. “Well, quest accomplished. You may go about whatever foolery it is you have planned hereafter.”</p><p>“That <em> foolery </em>, as it happens, involves you,” Yennefer states matter of factly. </p><p>“I should hardly see why it’s of any concern to…” </p><p>Yennefer doesn’t much care to hear Tissaia dismiss her again, a long string in a thousand other times she’s done it, so she cuts her off at the pass. </p><p>“It’s of concern to you because it’s of concern to me that I’ve no one to give me away as tradition dictates.” Yennefer levels her with a look of blazing plum eyes. “Which is where you come in.”</p><p>If Tissaia looked uncategorizable before, she looks dumbfounded now. The silent agitation begins to overtake her face (that stony resilience she’s always had in the wake of anything troubling) and she pinches the bridge of her nose. </p><p>“I am to be married and I’d like for you to be the one who goes through the steps that…” <em> a mother would.  </em></p><p>That’s the finish of Yennefer’s sentence anyway. It never comes out because, for some unknown reason, the words die in Yennefer’s throat before she can even get to them. She shakes her head and rolls her shoulders, trying to gain her equilibrium again. </p><p>“Is there not another you could ask? I hardly think I’m the sort of person you would want for that incredible honor,” Tissaia says quietly. Her eyes remain downcast.</p><p>Tissaia knows there’s no one else. She’s saying it to convince herself it’s true. However, despite Yennefer’s almost century of living, she’s not formed any close bonds, not in the ways that this whole procession requires. The closest thing she has to something deep, to something lasting, is the woman standing in front of her. </p><p>The fact both irks and flusters Yennefer at the same time. Leave it to herself to buck Tissaia at every turn and then run to her the second she’s needed. Now it’s Yennefer’s turn to be mute. </p><p>Rather than give Tissaia even a moment of thinking she’s able to escape what Yennefer is requesting, Yennefer decides to go in for the metaphorical kill (which might be tied a little too close to the truth too. Not that she would ever admit it.)</p><p>“I’m asking you because I want it to be you,” Yennefer doesn’t leave much in the way of argument in her tone. She holds Tissaia’s gaze as they both stare at one another. </p><p>Hoping to break a stalemate. Hoping the other will falter. A challenge that both of them seem apt to meet head-on. That is until Tissaia relinquishes first and says her next words so quietly, Yennefer almost misses them. </p><p>“Alright,” is the slight whisper. She turns her piercing blue eyes toward Yennefer. She straightens her posture and laces her hands in her customary way. A heavy sigh comes out. She nods. “Alright.”</p><p>——-////——</p><p>There is a small tavern in Gors Velen that Yennefer knows very well. A frequent patron of it during her time at Aretuza, (though she would never admit that to either party she awaits) it seems the right place for the two of them to meet. This way he doesn’t have to enter the walls of Aretuza’s unyielding facade and Yennefer watching him show his obvious discomfort. She also doesn’t have to watch a similar display from Tissaia, the way her jaw works when she is trying to hold it together and maintain decorum. </p><p>Ah, yes. This should be interesting, to say the least. And honestly, by this point, Yennefer is surprised the two have never met. They’ve both in her life for many years, their paths bobbing and weaving in and out of Yennefer. </p><p>Indelible marks, both of them. Transcendent too. Yennefer shakes the thought away as she leans against the tavern wall. </p><p>Before she has time to process the direction of her thought, Tissaia is standing in front of her. Not a hair out of place nor a wrinkle on her clothing anywhere in sight, she looks picturesque as always.</p><p>To anyone but Yennefer, no one would think twice about the added touches Tissaia has gone through. There’s a pale paint to her lips not normally there and the stronger scent of something aromatic and earthy. <em> She’s put on perfume.  </em></p><p>There are also rings on a few of her fingers that she normally doesn’t adorn. At her ears, a simple pair of dangling earrings. Very odd of her, considering she’s standing outside of an establishment named <em> The Unlaced Corset </em> which is situated near the fish market a few paths over. </p><p>“Could you not have found a more suitable meeting place?” Tissaia says with little inflection in her voice at all. Not exactly her biting tone but clearly unamused again by Yennefer’s way of doing things. </p><p>“I could have hardly had him meet you over at the bathhouse that you and your new protege Margarita like to frequent so much,” Yennefer says with a frivolous intonation. </p><p>“I must train someone for my eventual retirement,” Tissaia shuffles on her feet, kicking up a little dirt. </p><p>“Yes, and the bathhouse seems like a fine place to commence that training,” Yennefer narrows her eyes, slightly affronted at never having been invited. Possibly also at having been replaced in Tissaia’s list of nags that plague her life. But she oddly seems to have taken up with Margarita, so Yennefer supposes the dynamic is already different. </p><p>“Let’s not clutch to our morals like pearls,” Yennefer waves off and backs away from the wall. “I’ve seen you forgo propriety in the spirit of celebration and merriment a few times.”</p><p>“Drinking ale on a rock wall at Sodden hardly classifies as a jovial time,” Tissaia corrects. “Especially with the looming probability of death.”</p><p>Yennefer barks out a laugh and without thinking, steps forward while turning to the side, grabbing Tissaia’s arm and lacing it through her own in her own good spirit. After she’s done it though, she becomes aware of how close they are, how pressed together they’ve become. How her hand has decided to act of its own accord and glide along the stiff material of Tissaia’s glove. How the action would be weighty if it were removed. </p><p>“This is,” Yennefer whispers and the two of them share a gaze until there’s a grunt to the side of them. When they both turn, his yellow eyes meet their twin looks. </p><p>Tissaia tries to drop Yennefer’s arm, but Yennefer pulls ever tighter and smiles at the dashing figure before her. She can feel Tissaia still working beside her a little to extricate herself, but she eventually gives up.</p><p>“You’re late,” she snaps at him. </p><p>And that’s how all of that starts out. It’s how it pretty much goes thereafter too. </p><p>——-////——-</p><p>The ale is tepid by the time either of them decides to talk. Instead of sitting at the end of the table with them on either side, she’d foolishly chosen to be at his side. Yennefer slowly rotates the tankard as he sits just as stoically beside her as the woman across from them.</p><p>Tissaia hands are laced together and resting on the edge of the table. Begrudgingly, she’d also ordered an ale. One that’s remained untouched for the unbearable duration for however long it’s been since they sat. </p><p>“So Yennefer tells me of your intent to marry her,” Tissaia huffs finally after he looks a little too long at Yennefer and reaches to squeeze her hand. </p><p>“Yen said you understood that and that’s why we had to meet,” Geralt says in his raspy quality of speech. Yennefer winces a little at his word choice. </p><p>“Yen…” Tissaia purses her lips. Yennefer remembers Rinde. The same face in the mirror. Her cheeks heat. Luckily neither of them see. </p><p>“It comes from knowing her for many years,” he waves off. “Nicknames.”</p><p>“Decades longer I’ve known her and yet I simply call her by her name.” Tissaia stills though when Yennefer flashes her a look. Not so long ago, she had been given the moniker of the company she kept in a pen. Now Tissaia’s cheeks flame. “It’s a fine shortening, I suppose.”</p><p>Beside her, another grunt. Whether in affirmation or dissension, (she hasn’t divulged what Tissaia burned into her soul by giving her that name to him and she never will.)  Yennefer cannot tell. He sighs heavily and mutters ‘fuck’ under his breath. Yennefer works to maintain her hold on calm as she claws at her own knee, fingernails digging into her breeches. </p><p>“I wanted the two of you to meet. The two most important people in my life. We shall not get into pissing matches about who is better equipped at knowing me,” Yennefer grounds out. “You’ve both made mistakes where I’m concerned, as have I with you. But you’re both here, right now, and I’m telling you to get over yourselves for my sake.”</p><p>Tissaia deflates immediately and Yennefer supposes Geralt concedes a little bit of ground as well. <em> Make this work </em>, she thinks as she looks at him. Sometimes, she wishes he could read her mind. </p><p>He leans forward, tankard between his large palms and leathers squeaking as he moves. His gray hair falls down around his shoulders, his chiseled jaw set as he works it. Finally, he relaxes and extends his palms a little. </p><p>“I’m shit at this,” he admits. “I don’t know about ritual or custom in this regard. I’ve never been good at diplomacy or speaking anything other than with truth. I can accommodate when I have to, when it’s important. This qualifies, Rectoress.” </p><p>Yennefer watches as he taps a finger on the table and then leans back again. “I want to marry Yennefer. I will with or without you, but we both know this. However, you mean something to her, which means something to me. Whatever I have to do to make this work, well then, you have my word.” Hardly eloquent but perhaps enough. </p><p>“Alright,” Tissaia buries her face in her palms with a sigh. Yennefer thinks it’s quickly becoming close to her favorite word the woman utters, right behind that first initial ‘please’. Absolutely nothing will ever top that in Yennefer’s book. </p><p>Geralt departs not long after, a wary but formed agreement between them all to make their way through this uncharted territory. So much so that they all walk out together and Tissaia bids him a cordial goodbye as he squeezes Yennefer’s hand and nods, departing. </p><p>When he’s gone, Yennefer lets the anxiety roll off her shoulders and says what she’s been dying to for ages. Grabbing Tissaia again, she leans in. </p><p>“At first I was angry with all of the peacocking, but now I find myself heartily amused. Who knew you had it in you,” Yennefer whispers with unbridled joy. </p><p>“If only that’s what you really saw,” Tissaia dismisses. “Look, Yennefer. If you want to potentially ruin your life by marrying a witcher, that’s up to you.”</p><p>“And here I was hoping you would say something heartfelt and emotional,” Yennefer clutches at her chest and pouts. Then she rolls her eyes and grumbles. “But let’s both be honest. I’m quite good at fucking up. I’ve been doing it for decades.”</p><p>“Yet here you are again, at it.” Her eyebrows are knit together. <em> So much left to give.  </em></p><p>The memory hits full force, the way Tissaia’s eyes had sparkled in a firelight night. Yennefer’s hand is on Tissaia’s cheek before she knows it and she’s too close for any damn good. What is she thinking? What is she<em> doing? </em>She drops her hand. </p><p>“The bann will be announced tomorrow then,” Yennefer nods and walks quickly away before she does something a woman getting married should absolutely not. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Part II: The Dress and The Flowers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The news of the bann is released and Tissaia supposes if it were much of anyone else, it wouldn’t be as big of a deal. People are wedded every day, of little resonance to those outside of their own social circles. </p><p>This, however, is Yennefer. A woman who has made her fair share of noise across the Continent, no matter where she goes. People know Yennefer, though not personally. They know <em> of </em> her or have experienced her briefly, neither of which are forgettable. Pair that with a witcher who shares just as much clout of word of mouth, and the Continent is a ripple of fire with the news. </p><p>Tissaia glances up from the penning of a letter, official school business and absolutely nothing at all to do with the woman lazily pawing through a book of spells that Tissaia knows she has zero interest in committing to memory. </p><p>Biting the inside of her cheek, Tissaia’s eyes go out of focus at the way Yennefer leans on her desk, elbows propped up and holding her chin in one hand and the book up with another. She wants to talk, to do that thing women do when they’re so alight with merriment over the idea of becoming enveloped into the life of another. </p><p>Tissaia shudders but then brings her gaze up to look at Yennefer, promptly slapping the book onto the desktop, her fingers pressed heavily into it so as to discourage it from being lifted again. Yennefer smiles. </p><p>“Your obvious excitement over this is rather distracting,” Tissaia chuffs. She drums her fingers atop the book. “So out with everything that’s just simmering under your surface. Come on.” Tissaia motions with her fingers. </p><p>Yennefer leans forward like the giddy school girl she never was, her cheeks resting on her palms. She leans over as if the two of them have something to whisper about conspiratorially. This is most certainly not the Yennefer Tissaia has grown to know. </p><p>“The bann lasts three weeks. I wonder if anyone will come forward to object to it,” Yennefer straightens her back and gives Tissaia a sultry look. </p><p>“I’m sure many people object to you, Yennefer, and to your witcher as well. But for marriage purposes? I hardly think anyone will come forward out of downright fear of what either of you might do,” Tissaia says drolly. </p><p>She’s quite pleased with her own cheekiness considering it does not arrive very often, if at all. Perhaps a byproduct of so many hours with Margarita. Yennefer seems to have found the laced humor in it as well. </p><p>“It’s custom,” Yennefer begins. </p><p>“A rather antiquated one in which two people twiddle their thumbs for over a fortnight,” Tissaia rolls her eyes. “And since when do you care of custom? I do remember you walking out on the <em> wrong </em> king’s arm, going to the <em> wrong </em> kingdom.”</p><p>“Everyone has to start somewhere, I suppose,” Yennefer shrugs. “So what that mine is a bit late? Moreover, I find it hard to believe that at no point in your very <em> long </em> life, you have not been here as I am now.”</p><p>“No,” Tissaia mutters. Barely even a noise, but she knows what she’s spoken. </p><p>It was meant to be internal, or at the most but an under the breath sort of thing. She can think of a few of Yennefer’s choice phrases at the moment because she doesn’t want to be opening up this line of inquiry. Which is why she has no idea why she continues on. “Not even once.”</p><p>“That’s very lonely,” the woman sounds sincere, her face twisted in knowing exactly how it feels. </p><p>The world is opening up, a gaping maw of possibility. Tissaia is fine giving the lesson to young girls about their deepest fear, but she doesn't like being a part of its action herself. At least not on the receiving end. </p><p>“I’m good with alone,” Tissaia dismisses, looks down again at the work she was about to do. (A section in a book she and Margarita have decided to call <em> Masters of Magic on Curses – Selected Writings.</em> That’s if she will ever be able to extricate herself from this too raw conversation with Yennefer to do her part. If the blasted girl will ever leave her be.) </p><p>“Don’t break my heart here,” Yennefer pouts in earnest now. </p><p>“Oh, you have one then? Good to know,” is the jestful response. If they can navigate this conversation into something resembling mirth instead of melancholy, Tissaia will be grateful. Despite what her dark heart is whispering. </p><p>“I’d also wager that you have one inside of there too, Rectoress.” The words are punctuated by two fingers, the pointer and middle, pressing just so into Tissaia’s breast. </p><p>The pen in her hand feels leaden, too heavy to hold. It scuttles along the desktop and rolls into oblivion. Tissaia would chase it with her eyes if they were able to look anywhere else but the digits resting on her. At the smoothness of Yennefer’s skin touching the dense fabric of Tissaia’s dress. </p><p>She would be daft to think that Yennefer cannot feel the steady gallop of the thing she works so rarely to consult in matters. But now it betrays her with just a simple touch, thumping out the contents of her mind. </p><p>“Yep, there it is,” Yennefer’s voice cracks and she swallows.  </p><p>“Yennefer,” Tissaia practically whimpers like a madwoman losing all grasp on reality, on a world where Yennefer’s touch and Yennefer’s presence mean something else entirely to match what her heart is stuttering out to warm fingertips.</p><p>Suddenly in a flutter, the book of spells Yennefer was holding earlier gets shuffled out of sight, much like the pen, and she’s standing up so quickly that the chair she has vacated scrapes on the floor below. Tissaia winces at the sound. She does so again when the door to her study closes with a lot more vigor than Tissaia is sure she’s ever heard Yennefer use. Which is saying a lot. </p><p>The room regains its standard quiet, the tell-tale rattle of the shutters from the sea breeze and the spitting hiss of the candles the only sounds. </p><p>Uncharacteristically, Tissaia lays down her head on her desk and thinks about a lot of things. Thinks about how she’s alone again, something that is feeling less like a thing she wants as time moves on. </p><p>——-////——-</p><p>It’s two days into the bann before Tissaia sees her again. When Yennefer strides in as if nothing happened previously, Tissaia has to calm her chaos when the woman suggests going to shop for a dress. </p><p>“Why not just conjure one and save yourself the disappointment of not finding exactly what you want?” Tissaia offers. The end result would probably be more satisfactory and also save Tissaia the headache of having to deal with traipsing behind Yennefer all over the Continent. </p><p>“And deprive you of the experience of helping me find the right selection? Hardly,” Yennefer laughs and Tissaia deflates a bit. </p><p>She tries to find the resolve in her to prepare for what comes next. Which includes jaunts across half of the Continent, looking at dresses with fine beading, intricate patterns hand-sewn into the fabric. There are dresses with layer after layer, frills, and designs that look more like tapestries than clothing. There are ones of the finest silk, the finest of all that money can buy. </p><p>In a now uncountable shop, Tissaia snaps. “I don’t see why I had to accompany you on this endeavor. Precious time I could have spent within the walls of Aretuza, conducting a class or oh, I don’t know, doing my job.”</p><p>Yennefer growls behind the dressing screen, the only response. Another gown working its way onto her lithe form. </p><p>“Well, what have you gone for this time?” Tissaia finally concedes, a banal attempt at pretending to be interested anymore. </p><p>The parade of garments on Yennefer’s body has been endless. Tissaia has watched it all, at first with mild amusement and then utter boredom by what has seemed like the hundredth gown. She’s seen the whole rainbow of color, nothing shocking or surprising anymore. </p><p>“You will see it when you see it,” is the clipped and muted response.</p><p>Tissaia hardly thinks anything will suffice at this point for Yennefer or that she herself will be impressed. That is until Yennefer walks out from behind the dressing screen.</p><p>The choice of white probably doesn’t hold its traditional meaning, but Tissaia’s throat can’t help but close at the way that Yennefer looks when she walks out. In fact, she finds herself trying to swallow, a woman unaffected by almost everything, reduced to a cotton mouth at the sight of the woman before her. </p><p>The gown (there’s no other word) pools like water at Yennefer’s feet, flowers delicately sewn on the hem tips. Intricate things that would have taken someone hours to do by hand. They wind up the middle of the front, fanning out across Yennefer’s chest creating scooped cups that the pattern spills over onto, a sheer fabric beneath showing off a great deal of sun-warmed flesh. The same gauze-like material winds down Yennefer’s arms, fanning out at her wrists like a waterfall. A garden of flowers is etched into the swishing fabric as Yennefer moves her hands. </p><p>The article of clothing paired with the long and wild sweeping curls of the woman’s dark locks and worried plum eyes has Tissaia struggling to know what to say. </p><p>“I know I’ve looked at many others and forgone tradition by trying on a few that I will no doubt not wear but…”</p><p>“You don’t strike me as the superstitious type. Or the traditional one,” Tissaia interrupts and appraises Yennefer silently. Never aloud. She cannot trust her mouth with what it might say if it deviates from its standard removed tone.</p><p>Yennefer either decidedly ignores Tissaia’s remark or never heard it in the first place, too caught up in examining the various parts of the dress and how she looks in it. </p><p>“How long has it been since you were in Rivia?” </p><p>The question comes from nowhere and apparently Tissaia will no longer be used to solid ground because what’s underfoot is always shaking, always moving because of Yennefer. </p><p>That’s when she notices the veil in Yennefer’s hand, long and cascading, almost indiscernible against the dress. On muscle memory alone, she finds herself gliding to remove it from Yennefer’s fingers, raking her own along the length of it. </p><p>She can be good at this: the attention to detail and the focus on order, in the steps that need to be followed to achieve an end result. That’s how she can reframe the incessant knocking of absurdity that she’s been tasked with this by someone who has seemed to barely tolerate her presence for decades. </p><p>Tissaia can tell herself that she’s performing a duty, one that has steps that when completed, lead closer to the culmination of what she’s been asked to do. That this feat that’s been thrust upon her in which she feels awkward at every turn can no longer be if she hones in on the things she is good with. </p><p>“A very long time,” she finally replies. “It has been quite some time since a sorceress came from those lands.”</p><p>She places the piece onto Yennefer’s head and her heart does this weird shifting she’s rarely felt in her entire life but that seems very normal when ascribed to the women in front of her.</p><p>Trying to lay everything out and place it neatly within her own mind, Tissaia busies herself with fixing the way the long train of the veil sits on Yennefer’s head, smoothing it past the curves of her shoulders and down her back and front. </p><p>“So, how does it look?” Yennefer asks with more meekness than Tissaia ever thought her capable of. A mouse and not the lion she so often tries to be. It’s humbling to Tissaia too who has had to puff out her chest and growl her fair share in order to meet Yennefer head on. </p><p>“Like you’re about to get married,” is the only thing within herself that Tissaia can find, the sole truth that is alright to speak. </p><p>Of course, there are other words, ‘stunning’ being at the forefront. A shadowed memory of what she’s said before. But all of the little flickers of sentiment get snuffed out when Yennefer rips the veil from her head, throwing it onto a nearby chair. </p><p>The move startles Tissaia and her brows knit together. “Why must you act so petulant?” The frown that accompanies this is transformative to her face. </p><p>Yennefer spins on her, stands directly at her toes with nostrils flaring and jaw clenched. Their chests brush against one another, heaving things. </p><p>“Would it kill you to be kind? Gods, you’re the one person I care most about most in the whole damn world and you can’t even utter something nice!” Yennefer rumbles. </p><p>The second it hits the air, Tissaia can see Yennefer judging the error of her words. Of the mistake in letting them come forth. Because they’re standing here, right here in this very spot, so close they can see the flecks of usually indiscernible color in one another’s irises, because Yennefer has given her heart to a witcher, loves him above and beyond. </p><p>If Yennefer is lost in the abyss of her admission, Tissaia is swimming in her own confusing wave of feeling. Where the unfounded compulsion to stand on her tiptoes and close the gap between them is coming from, Tissaia has no idea. </p><p>The idea feels dirty, lustful, so un-kin to anything she’s ever allowed herself to experience. Tissaia hopes the moment is only disguised as a turning point but does not bear the true markers of it, that life doesn’t rearrange from whatever she says next. </p><p>“Is this the one then?” Tissaia asks softly, must. Not a turning point, no. Just a general inquiry that could lead to Yennefer’s well being. “This witcher of yours.”</p><p>“Are you objecting?” It’s asked so low, the tone a grated rasp, that it almost chills Tissaia’s skin. </p><p>No, she is not objecting. Whatever folly Yennefer wishes to indulge in is her own prerogative. Tissaia would be wise not to step in the way despite her contrary reservations. She must change their course from this.</p><p>“You are a picture of beauty,” Tissaia looks Yennefer in the eyes. “And it seems your fears have proven baseless. Someone loves you beyond it.”</p><p>The room feels heavy, too stuffed full. She knows what she’s said is laced with more than either of them are speaking. A great deal more than either of them are willing to acknowledge. </p><p>“This will be done then.” Yennefer seems resigned, sad even. </p><p>Why, when her heart should be so stuffed with the witcher and her words should have never been spoken? They should have never been able to resonate. Tissaia tries not to review them, tries not to turn them over again and again. </p><p>
  <em> The person I care most about in the whole damn world.  </em>
</p><p>Tissaia knows about care, but Yennefer has sent something discordant throughout her, leaving her to ponder if there’s really something more beneath the surface of them or if the moment’s heat makes them so. </p><p>——-////——-</p><p>The oddness at the dress shop extends longer than the initial meeting with Yennefer’s witcher. When boiled down to it though, Tissaia is very grateful for the reprieve. </p><p>It’s almost two weeks into the bann before Yennefer shows up again, this time walking by the various verdant saplings and other growth spanning the greenhouse walls and tables. </p><p>Tissaia watches her as she makes her way around the room, dragging fingers across plants and petals. It’s odd to watch her be so whimsical, in such a dreamlike state as she moves. There is a youthfulness to her, something uncharacteristic lightness that Tissaia is not used to seeing. </p><p>It’s weird how her own heart goes dark thinking about Yennefer’s behavior. <em> She’s in love. </em> And oh, how odd it is to ponder something she’s never put much stock in before. How it’s never mattered (still doesn’t need to, right?) until now. This should not be any different. </p><p>“Do you have intentions to ransack and pillage the area or are you content to finger the foliage all day?” Tissaia announces her presence finally. </p><p>“As if I couldn’t feel you there the whole time,” Yennefer rolls her eyes. She spins, a wolfish smile on her lips. Then her eyebrows knit together and she adopts a look of agitation. “Would you like me to tell you exactly how your chaos feels?”</p><p>“A lesson best left for another day,” Tissaia loses patience quickly, in no mood for whatever might have been about to transpire. “Why the sudden interest in herbalism?”</p><p>“I very well can’t stand empty-handed when I wed my witcher,” Yennefer scoffs. “Geralt may have brutish tendencies, but I will not dismiss having something lovely in my hands, someone handsome on my arms, and something wonderful soon between my…”</p><p>“It seems that he has rubbed off on you with your vulgarity,” Tissaia launches quickly, cutting Yennefer off. The woman shrugs. </p><p>“There has been a lot of rubbing, I agree.” Yennefer looks quite pleased with herself and Tissaia is almost ready to turn and walk out. Which she voices. “Oh, come on. You may be a reserved woman, but you’ve lived longer than most people on the Continent. I’m sure you’ve seen your fair share and heard worse.”</p><p>Tissaia must concede that the woman has a point. The years have given her a lot of wherewithal to face whatever she’s experienced. Yennefer however always feels shifty, a lot uncertain. Tissaia could live for hundreds of more years and still not be ready for whatever Yennefer brings. </p><p>In her hands, she conjures a bloom, feels her chaos sag a bit from pulling energy out of the air. Nearby, a potted plant wilts a little, a causality of the magic. </p><p>“Perhaps the sweet pea then for your bouquet.” Tissaia strokes across one of the white petals. “Fragrant but not overpowering. They stand for ‘passion’ and ‘beauty’.” She cocks her eyebrow at Yennefer. “No doubt both things you relied heavily on to wind up in this predicament, that’s for sure.”</p><p>Yennefer laughs, a trill of a sound. In her own hand, petals appear. They are the color of Yennefer’s eyes and the stem is long between her fingers. She meanders forward a few paces, twirling the flower around. “And what of the Calla Lily? I was thinking it matches with me a bit and also stands for that ‘magnificent beauty’ I hooked my white-haired beau with.”</p><p>His name or the merest reference to him has gotten no easier to digest than before. In the weeks since Yennefer announced her intent to marry, the news has twisted itself in a myriad of ways. Mostly in thinking there is no way this can ever come to pass but also the frustration of feeling anything other than indifferent, rolling around too often in “if only's”. </p><p>How much is left to go through? Why can’t Tissaia just let it settle and be done with it, let it morph into its own finality?</p><p>Another set of petals appear, the peach scalloped boldness of them still managing to look dainty in Tissaia’s small hand. Something inside her stutters, changes the tonality of her voice. “The dahlia. A symbol of commitment. Of an everlasting bond.” </p><p><em> Not because of djinns </em>, Tissaia thinks. It almost makes her sigh. Even though she knows little of romance, even less of love, she knows what should be a part of coming together between two people. Just because she’s never experienced it…</p><p>Her face feels hot and revealing. If Yennefer notices, she does not let on. Her own visage is as contented as Tissaia has ever seen it and if all she has to do is stand here and conjure flowers while discussing their symbolism, she finds she’d gladly do so forever. </p><p>Because no matter what Yennefer says, past everything she believes, Tissaia does truly care. </p><p>The thought comes to a halt as Yennefer enters Tissaia’s space (and are they skating toward weirdness again?) because there’s little room between them as she runs a nail along Tissaia’s palm around the edges of the flower.</p><p>“Good,” she shrugs. “Pretty.” She cups Tissaia’s palm then and covers the flower with it. In an instant, Tissaia feels it shift and turn to fluttery white blooms with a dark center, little black anthers sticking skyward. “But the anemone…”</p><p>“Expectation.” Tissaia’s tongue is thick when she says it. Her blue eyes find Yennefer’s, finding herself already pinned by equal purple. <em> Don’t do it </em>…</p><p>She finds herself speaking Elder anyway, transforming the object in her hand again. The bunched together flowers form a ball, a mix of the purples and blues they can take on. Yennefer hums low in her throat. </p><p>“Hydrangea,” Yennefer never wavers her look. “Understanding, heartfelt emotions.” </p><p>Nothing should feel this charged, this close to the jagged bolts of light that Tissaia has easily captured and molded with her own hands. So why does it all feel new in her palm? She finds herself whisking the flower away, dragging her eyes up to Yennefer’s, and curling her fingers around the woman’s empty hand when their gazes connect.</p><p>If life is made of moments, then this is one she will remember for the rest of her years. The absolute moment that Yennefer became dangerous to her, not just the entire continent. Because of the idea that lances into her brain like a barb, one she’s not let herself think about in her entire life: how very much she’d like to learn what Yennefer’s mouth would feel like against her own. </p><p>They hold onto one another too long for the look to be benign. The heat that had threatened to creep earlier is crawling like ivy up Tissaia’s neck, wrapping around her limbs. <em> This is another man’s woman.  </em></p><p>Well, there is a new thought too. The acknowledging that Yennefer does indeed belong to someone else. That she is not as free as she’s always been, as unchained as Tissaia has perceived her to be her whole life. </p><p>It’s not pleasant to have ideas that shake away good feelings, to go from the thought of flying to being planted on the ground. Tissaia pulls her hand out from under Yennefer’s and must gather herself. </p><p>“I’m sure whatever you pick will be lovely,” she has to mutter. “Now onto the next item of business: rice or barley for the girls to throw—”</p><p>But her hand doesn’t become her own. Instead, Yennefer grips it tighter, keeping Tissaia and her connected. She cannot help the little breath that exits her. The frown on Yennefer’s face looks pained. </p><p>“Tissaia, I…” her voice trails off. Lost somewhere deep. Her fingers brush. Everything is afire. “Is something happening between us?”</p><p>“What do you mean?” It’s an asinine question, especially when the answer is already known.</p><p>“Oh, I don’t know.” But Yennefer is still holding her hand, still hanging on. “I thought the meeting with Geralt was you being your usual self. But then at the dress fitting, something felt off. Different. And now, whatever the fuck it is we are doing…”</p><p>“Looking for a floral arrangement idea, Yennefer.” Tissaia cuts her off, sounding like a teacher scolding a child instead of a grown woman about to get married. </p><p>Yennefer’s eyebrows screw up and she curls her lip a little, patting at Tissaia’s hand. “That is what we are doing, sure. But if nothing else is going on here, then let me try one of those lovely little trials that you loved to have me do as a sorceress in training.”</p><p>“Do whatever you must to rid yourself of this notion,” Tissaia motions with more gusto than she feels, pretending that whatever Yennefer may think or do is beyond the probability of shock. </p><p>But that was before the dress choosing, before conjuring flowers that she’s never once cared about the meaning of until now. Cursory things to learn about, never really something she found herself wanting to connect with on a deeper level. <em> Not like with Yennefer.  </em></p><p>Yennefer, who is stepping closer. Yennefer who has Tissaia’s back pressing up against the table with all of the smaller plant samples. Yennefer who puts her hands behind Tissaia on that table. Tissaia can smell her perfume, like the flowers all around them. <em> Lilacs </em>.</p><p>“Let me cast the veritas spell,” she murmurs. </p><p>“Absolutely not!” Tissaia barks. It’s an automatic response. She knows it will not hold up since but a breath ago, she’d told Yennefer to do whatever she would. </p><p>“So then neither of us need it?” Yennefer’s eyes question. Her body leans impossibly closer, closing in. </p><p>Tissaia is likely to take whatever is going on inside herself to her grave, surmises the same of Yennefer. And even though danger is looking her right in the face, is squealing at her to duck under and away, she finds herself wanting to be lured in by the song, desperate to hear the tune a little more clearly. </p><p>Everyone’s got their secrets and Yennefer most certainly has hers too. Can Tissaia meet the spell head on and control what it might draw out of her? </p><p>She’s nothing if not a woman of her word. Even though Tissaia has never seen the spell work any way but soul-baring, she finds herself agreeing to it anyway, commanding that they speak the words to latch the spell onto one another at the same time. </p><p>“It’s the only right way to do it,” she tells Yennefer. </p><p>“Since when do you care about being <em> fair </em>, Tissaia?”</p><p>Tissaia doesn’t utter a word as she moves to extricate herself from Yennefer’s pin. She’s stopped by a quick touch to her hand, there and then gone again. The same one that had been held earlier. </p><p>“Begin the spell,” Yennefer grounds out. And so they do. </p><p>Like the tip of an arrow being crammed into her chest cavity, the shaft pulled to the side to expose everything, Tissaia cries out as the spell takes hold. </p><p>Yennefer looks gripped by taloned claws and her face screws up in pain. She’s trying to fight it too even though it was her idea. How stubbornly fitting.</p><p>“I do not want you to marry him!” Tissaia cracks first and how? How, in so little time, has she been absolutely stripped of any resolve? She bites her lip, imagines blood. </p><p>“You have no say so in that. This isn’t something you get to decide or control.”</p><p>“He’s a witcher for the gods sake, Yennefer.”</p><p>Yennefer’s lips twist into a snarl. “And we are sorceresses. You can sit up here, overlooking the world, and pretend that you are above him and the lot of us. But we both know the truth: that it isn’t about the fact that he’s a witcher at all.”</p><p>Tissaia rolls her eyes and lets out a scathing laugh. She leans in, sees the maelstrom in Yennefer’s eyes. “So you suggest this then, hmm? Where I get to say that you’re better than this. That you deserve better.”</p><p>“I’ve gone through the Continent like parting sheets on a line in a breeze. You’re the only one who is better than him and yet I cannot have you!” As quickly as it comes out, Yennefer is slapping a palm over her mouth. </p><p>The words are a hook in Tissaia, the line leading out of Yennefer’s mouth and down her throat to her heart. She can feel the truth being dragged up as if Yennefer is reeling in. </p><p>She hears the wood below her fingertips creak as she grips it with all of her strength, every ounce of it in her body. The spell is ripping through her, causing tears to bubble at the corners of her eyes and her mouth to hang open with no sound. </p><p>There is about to be though and she knows precisely what she’s going to hear. This will not be good. </p><p>“What good comes from telling you that in the darkest corner of my heart, I wonder of a world where it could be me?” Tissaia admits and a tear tracks down her face, coming to rest in the dimple of her chin. </p><p>“What good comes from telling you I imagine the same?” Yennefer is but a hushed sigh, a soft touch of a hand across the trail of moisture left behind. She presses her thumb there. “I very much would like to kiss you right now.”</p><p>Tissaia’s gut wrenches inside her body. Since they are creating mirrors…</p><p>“I very much would like for you to but Yennefer, you cannot. You are another man’s woman.”</p><p>“Yet all I can think about in too many agonizing seconds is being yours.”</p><p>Hours may have passed. Long ticking minutes that have seemed to never end. Tissaia suspects that it’s only been a few scant ones, however, but the effects are devastating. </p><p>Like a cord being cut, both of their bodies sag, the spell draining out of them. Tissaia’s head is pressed against Yennefer’s shoulder and she is breathing hard, feeling the erratic push of the other woman’s chest beneath her. </p><p>Yennefer has a cheek pressed to the side of Tissaia’s chestnut locks, spun upward in her typical updo. The arch mistress is hyper-aware of the arm wrapped around her waist. </p><p>That same time that extended into the infinite moments ago deflates the room. Both women become aware of their closeness and back away about the same time. Tissaia has to remove some stray wetness from her eyes as she watches Yennefer shuffle on her feet, hands placed on her hips. </p><p>“Tissaia, I need to call off the bann” She’s serious. And oh, no. </p><p>“A word of this cannot be breathed again. It stays within this place, trapped in the walls of this room. That—“ she waves between them, “jitters, is all. You’ve not been betrothed and I’ve not had to give someone away. This is a new endeavor for the both of us.” </p><p>“Mmm,” Yennefer nods almost sagely. </p><p>To say that Tissaia is taken aback is an understatement. Hesitation curls her tone. “You agree with me then?”</p><p>“Of course, you’re right.” The nod that comes next is resolute. She glances at Tissaia once more and then makes her way toward the door. </p><p>Something aching seizes Tissaia’s body and she finds herself yelping out for Yennefer to stop. Residuals of the spell?</p><p>“Yenna—wait.” That slips out too, some fuzzy memory of when she’s heard Triss refer to the woman before her. Not a ‘piglet,’ not the sorceress Yennefer. A soul of closeness, one Tissaia can be soft with like this. “What you said just now…”</p><p>Yennefer holds up a hand, her face melancholy. She smiles small. “I agreed a moment ago because...because…” she sighs. “Because it’s what you wanted to hear.” </p><p>She slips out quietly, leaving Tissaia alone with herself and the crackling fact of what just happened. Her gut clenches again. Tomorrow, they’ve agreed to practice the traditional wedding dance. </p><p>For the first time in very many moons, Tissaia’s life feels maddeningly, unfairly cruel.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Part III: Dances and Ceremonial Baths</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Really, Yennefer thinks, she should be given the title of ‘Master.’ She knows it’s reserved for only men but for the sheer amount of shit she’s had to trudge through in her life, the number of times she’s had to pretend to not be falling apart, she thinks it’s well earned. Or should be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Most specifically, it has never applied to her more than the moment she has to walk through the doors of the grand ballroom at Aretuza, into where she’d stolen a king off another woman’s arm and not think of how she’d like Tissaia to do exactly the fucking same. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But now, there are no more spells of truth working inside of their bodies. And knowing Tissaia the way Yennefer does, she has to assume that the woman wants no reminders, stark or otherwise, of what happened only one sun ago. So Yennefer decides to put on the grandest act of her life—pretending nothing happened at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is easier said than done as she enters the room, slipping through the large door with little sound but it still groaning shut as she makes her way toward the slight woman sitting in a chair, fingers splayed over a small volume. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see your company as of late has made you prone to be so as well.” It’s neither caustic nor belittling in tone though. There is no scorn, only a rather dry stating of fact. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“More of that rubbing off then,” Yennefer waves away. “Plus I’ve pretty much conquered every dance known to man.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She watches as Tissaia stands, her dress shifting with her movement. It’s less restrictive than normal, for fluidity Yennefer supposes. The undershirt has billowing sleeves and exposes a bit more of the creamy skin of Tissaia’s chest than Yennefer has ever seen. (She absolutely does </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> think about running a finger along her there or worse, her lips) The teal overlay fans out across her small hips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The dance between husband and wife is not in your repertoire though so unless you’d just as soon be without it, I suggest we do what we’ve come here for,” Tissaia motions for Yennefer to move closer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Yennefer from yesterday also absolutely does not want to do so at all, temptation bubbling at an alarming rate. Words echo in her head and make her swallow back anxiety, </span>
  <em>
    <span>you are another man’s woman.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You are, Yennefer, so start acting like it. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>So the Yennefer from every other year rears her head and she flips back the long strands of her raven hair with an air of breeziness, coming to stand directly in front of Tissaia. She sighs in a bored manner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You be Geralt,” she says authoritatively. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As if I could muster the grunt correctly,” Tissaia snorts in derision and holds her hand out. “But I must say, the poor fellow. Stuck with you for eternity.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yennefer feels the press of the spell, the stickiness of the remnants left behind by the truth. Of what they both choked out when they weren’t in control of their mouths or hearts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She deposits her hand in Tissaia’s waiting one, wrapping her arm around the woman’s shoulder and pushing in closer. Tissaia begins the steps and as they glide, Yennefer leans in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There are worse things than being stuck with me forever,” Yennefer shrugs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Such as what? I cannot imagine.” Tissaia sounds off the steps out between the goading. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No sight, no magic,” Yennefer answers simply and they’re back at Sodden. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Honestly speaking, part of Yennefer has never left. Judging by Tissaia’s reaction, some piece of her has not either. War has a way of changing people though. How they’ve managed to make it this far after what happened there, (the exception being yesterday’s events) Yennefer will never know. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re here, no worse for wear,” Tissaia looks up at her with something softer creasing her features.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If up to you, I’d be teaching in these halls,” Yennefer smirks. “Being here now, thank goodness for small mercies.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And where are mine?” she hears the Rectoress bite out under her breath. Yennefer halts immediately. She knows Tissaia would like for her to let her go. It is for precisely that reason she does not. “What on earth are you doing? Step to it, will you? Your movements are less than nimble still.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What mercy do you wish for, Tissaia?” Yennefer’s hand is brushing along the curve of her cheekbone, wrapping around the back of her neck. Tissaia tries to swat her hand away, but Yennefer holds firm. “I’ll not move until you tell me what you mean.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blue irises turn to her in anguish. “Do not make me pull forth the bitter truth from my own heart. Has the spell from but a night ago not done that enough?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve been standing here, asking over and over again about your reservations. I’ve questioned you on your objections.” There is no pulling up Tissaia’s gaze from where it has fallen to their feet between them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence fills the grand ballroom. Just like last time, the air has been sucked clean from it. They’re circulating their own breaths back into each other, having to pretend it’s fresh air. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You wish to hear something from me that is difficult to give, but here is what you seek without the force of an incantation.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yennefer looks down as she feels Tissaia’s fingers lace through her own. Not just a sliding of palm against palm but the kind where the digits lock. She looks at their hands entwined. How good they look together. It’s hard not to peer down the road of where they could be inside of a dream, the one from the veritas spell where they share what’s inside of them and huddle together with their lips connected at the end of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m to give you away in a week’s time. Yennefer, I have to stand next to you and tell someone else it’s alright for them to take you off of my arm.” Her tone is like being rocked by the sound of it, lulled into a false sense of security and hope. The other shoe is waiting to drop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Belonging to a sorceress might not be so bad either,” Yennefer finds herself murmuring. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We must stop doing this.” Now the woman’s words cut in warning. Whatever natural trance has been holding them in the memory of yesterday loses its potency. A sigh escapes her and her jaw sets. “Our time has been spent mostly in one another’s company. Perhaps it is best that we separate for a time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But Tissaia—“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A hand is held up to eye level. “I will be there to attend to your ceremonial bath. Until then, use this break to gain some perspective about what it is you’re barreling toward.” Tissaia nods, lips thin. “Go to Geralt and let what speaks in someone when in love do so with him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The last thing Yennefer needs is sage advice. The last thing she wants is for Tissaia to be the one telling her to go to him, to seek him out. It feels like she’s being ripped out like the stitching of a beautiful dress she’s eyed for far too long and only recently got to have. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yennefer knows she should stop Tissaia. She knows that if she doesn’t say something right now, she’ll regret it her entire life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door closes gently, but the echo still reverberates throughout the hall. Just like Tissaia’s sound does within Yennefer, in every single fiber of her being. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she walks into </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Barrel and Bung Inn</span>
  </em>
  <span>, a little unassuming place in the same type of small town in Toussaint, he casts his golden eyes at her from where he sits across from an eclectically dressed bard with a hand of Gwent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jaskier,” Yennefer says by way of greeting. “Guess I should never expect to find him without his lovely Dandelion.” She points to Geralt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man continues on with the tinkling tune from his lute but doesn’t offer Yennefer a word as Geralt grips her arm firmly to get her attention. When he leans in, she runs her fingers across the stubble of his chiseled chin but refuses to meet his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re troubled, Yen.” Even though his voice holds its typical rasp, she can hear the concern there too. As much as he’s capable of anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s life, my love. It’s the mirth that sometimes occurs that’s the trouble.” She glances around the tavern, motions the barkeep for a drink. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His large palm comes to her shoulder, pressing her back a bit against the wall she leans against as her boots rest on the bench between them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His gaze is intense, unwavering-as if he’s studying the very essence of her being. He’s been around for as long as she has, is good with reading people and seeing things. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Does he notice Tissaia in me? About how no matter what, I can never let her go? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>But the thing about being alive for longer than an average human life is also developing the skill and art of deception. She’s had decades to perfect the art of lying, years of covering the aches and despair she’s felt every second of breathing. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Why would Tissaia ever be any different?</span>
  </em>
  <span> She’s her own kind of pang inside of Yennefer’s heart, a twinge of something throbbing whenever Yennefer allows herself more than a second to linger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yennefer finally looks up at Geralt. She wonders why she’s always falling in love with stones. They give little in return, but she’s always been drawn to their towering strength, the way they seem to be impenetrable to the world.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The dual parts of her heart, always battling, never coexisting. One love that’s come from great adventure and great pain. Another she’s finding out existed all along. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>//———//</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Time beats in people more than they care to admit. Two days isn’t much to someone who has lived lifetimes already, but the finite fact is that in forty-eight hours, Yennefer will be standing on Rivian soil and marrying Geralt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Also that she’s currently standing in the heated pools of the bathhouse in Gors Velen that she’d teased the woman standing in waiting earlier about. When blue eyes fix to her form, Yennefer feels woefully underdressed even though it’s the very reason she’s standing here at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She knows about tradition, about ceremony. About how custom dictates that a woman should be cleansed so that she may enter into a marriage with as much purity as possible. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>While no virgin, Yennefer had agreed to follow out the plan accordingly. Which also requires one’s lady in waiting or maternal figure to dispense with said washing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before everything, before that damn spell Yennefer had insisted on casting, (so wild, so reckless) walking out in a sheer bathing gown that leaves very little to anyone’s imagination would have been like swiping a fly away—an act that requires little to no thought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But as Yennefer watches Tissaia stand stoically near the impeccably laid out table of items needed (small little bottles of mixtures, tinctures, soaps, wraps, and towels), she feels ill-prepared. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You can do this. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Or something. Uncovering herself this way in front of Tissaia has thoughts running rampant of other ways she might become bare. About how Tissaia might bunch her dress up the side of her thighs, scraping as she goes along. How commanding she’d be as she took off the elaborate adornments Yennefer has sometimes adopted to wear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her tongue resembles a slug as she works to speak. “How would you like to go about this?” Yennefer motions to the sheer robe. She hopes that Tissaia doesn’t notice the peaked buds of her breasts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And maybe she doesn’t because her eyes remain trained on Yennefer’s face. “I’m to remove the robe and attend to you thereafter.” Her voice is slightly detached, impersonal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, alright.” Yennefer moves to stand directly in front of Tissaia, the long robe swishing at her feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tissaia’s eyes do not move, but her fingers work expertly at the slender ties at the neck, undoing them with deft ease. She’s more gentle than Yennefer imagined, yet still full of grace and poise. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A flutter of touch to her shoulders and Tissaia is brushing the fabric off of them, letting the robe fall to the floor in a pool by the water. Gooseflesh prickles on Yennefer’s body and she responds the only way she knows how. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, this is new. My old teacher and mentor seeing me without my usual frills,” Yennefer huffs out a laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is just as awkward for me, I assure you,” Tissaia’s lips pull at the corners. “But you’ll remember, I’ve seen you without your newly adopted ‘frills’ before.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yennefer glances down and smirks again. “Not like this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmm,” Tissaia nods, a small smile finally crossing her face. But then she turns pensive and raises her head a little straighter, jutting out her chin. “I was supposed to do your enchantment, you know. Not Giltine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It comes from nowhere and Yennefer reels. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Every single sorceress, every one remade. Not by the man who did the preparations, no, but by the woman who collaborated with him. Triss, Sabrina, all the ones that managed to not be turned into writhing creatures in another pool—they all got to have Tissaia remake them in the image acceptable to the world? This whole time, Yennefer robbed herself of having someone familiar there during it, those both riling and calming blue eyes guiding her through the pain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why tell me this now?” Yennefer’s brows knit together and she knows there’s too much emotion on her face, so she goes to turn away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yennefer.” The Rectoress stops her from her movement with a hand to the inside of her wrist, having grazed the jut of her hip when she turned. She has to close her eyes against the overwhelming sensations. “There’s not one really.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Only no, that’s wrong. Or so Tissaia’s look says as she works to amend. “I just have always felt that it was not right to have been absent at such a pivotal moment. That you shouldn’t have had to go through that alone.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yennefer works to gather herself and lets a drawn-out breath to steady her rampant thoughts and feelings. When centered, she turns around. “I suppose you’re making up for that now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>By being here. By doing this for me and with me. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>All acceptable things to say. But nothing gets said as Tissaia takes her by the hand and leads her into the step on the pool. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Submerge yourself and then rise back up. We shall begin after that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yennefer does as she has been bid, dipping into the warm water, feeling it swallow her. She opens her eyes beneath it, looks up at the distorted world on the surface. Of who waits for her atop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she rises, Tissaia is waiting with her feet bare and in the water. She has one of the small bottles from the table in her hand and a cloth in the other. She motions with the hand holding the cloth to the edge, where Yennefer wades to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yennefer waits as Tissaia meticulously uncorks the cap on the bottle and sets it to the side. In her movements, her hand comes to rest on the ledge of the pool. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She should stop, well and truly. Yennefer cannot help it though. Tissaia’s attention to the detail, the way she’s done absolutely everything Yennefer has asked of her and more, has her moving to the small fingers wrapped around the edge and running her lips along them slowly, sensually. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And oh, how Tissaia’s skin feels against Yennefer’s lips! Even though it is just her hand, everything is soft and holds the faint scent of perfume. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It starts out as a peck on Tissaia’s knuckles. The act freezes any further motion from the woman and Yennefer hears her breath hitch. It makes her more brazen, more audacious. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She closes her eyes, urges Tissaia’s hand to be palm up, and works her way from the tips to the paleness of her wrist. Her pulse point throbs beneath Yennefer’s lips, the tell-tale erratic beat of it betraying Tissaia’s face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What’s more, Tissaia is letting her do this. Is letting Yennefer work her way across the heated flesh, sending Yennefer’s desire flaming inside of her own body. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is getting dangerous and she can’t find it in herself to care. She knows that if she were not in the pool, she would still be wet. It sends her own breath out of her in a burst.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reaching across Tissaia, Yennefer picks up the abandoned cloth and puts it back into her hand. She rises to put both of her arms on either side of Tissaia’s hips. She knows exactly how she looks to the other woman. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tissaia, please, touch me,” Yennefer is not above begging now. Everything has built up and now there is no way to resist what she invited into their worlds, what both of them agreed to. A truth that has bent their lives, no way to ever get rid of the creases.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe ‘I need you’ also slips out too and she’s making sure that they’re inches apart, her brain stuck on anything other than kissing Tissaia like she’s admitted she wants to do, even though the woman is supposed to be preparing her body for someone else. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is this really what you want?” Tissaia says, the timbre of her voice metaphorically cutting Yennefer into. “To look me in the eyes and tell me that your body craves me when it is bound for another?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yennefer has risen out of the water almost completely now, only her toes touching it still. Tiny rivulets sluice down, pulled by gravitational force and her coming to rest between Tissaia’s legs after she forces the woman’s feet apart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You make me feel absolutely everything,” Yennefer tells her, above reproach, flung out into space and wanting to ground herself in the person who sits before her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then why are you marrying him the day after tomorrow?” Behind Yennefer, there is a ripple of water as Tissaia shifts and her feet make a small splash. Just long enough to distract Yennefer from her leaning close and dusting breath onto Yennefer’s collarbone. “Would you run away from your witcher and let me have you in the way you’ve promised to him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yennefer wants to close that audacious mouth for good because she knows for as much as Tissaia is showing, she would have no idea what to do with it if Yennefer held her to exactly that. So she decides to tell her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me you don’t want me to do exactly that,” Yennefer combats. A volley. Something waiting for Tissaia to bat back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It never comes because instead, Tissaia tilts her head back and bringing their eyes to one another. To be honest, Yennefer isn’t sure what to do without a rebuttal either. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m supposed to be making you clean for your husband,” enters Yennefer’s ears and she wants nothing more than to bring Tissaia’s hand against her ever-so-often rocking hips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yennefer is no stranger to suffering, but this is like being held back in chains. She desperately wants to pull free of the bonds that encircle her wrists, her ankles, her heart, and head. She wants to beg Tissaia to soothe the mess she’s made of her life so far, of what she will undoubtedly continue to do. She’s so good at destroying herself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other side of the coin is wondering what Tissaia would feel if she stole Yennefer from Geralt’s strong body, from the intensity of his gaze. The rectoress sat across from and tried to find his worthiness of having Yennefer. Does she think she has it lying somewhere within herself?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then don’t tempt me beyond the capability of my restraint.” Yennefer speaks it hotly into Tissaia’s ear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Choice is one of the greatest things we are given in this life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yennefer can’t help but let out a derisive laugh. “Then why does it feel as if I’ve not had one iota of it my entire life?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you trying to choose what you want or what you think you should want at this juncture of your life, Yennefer?” And damn her, Tissaia reaches out and pushes a wet strand of Yennefer’s hair away from sticking to her cheek. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The what-ifs and shoulds can eat a person alive, devour them whole and spit them out with only bones left behind. This has been happening for the entirety of Yennefer’s existence, somehow stuck wondering about what she should do and has done.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tissaia is the greatest question mark in Yennefer’s life, not Geralt. She’s had him, has liked him at certain points which is evidence by her agreeing to marry him at all. But even since she’s asked Tissaia to be her lady in waiting, she feels as if she bears the markers of all the things the two of them haven’t exactly done but feel irreparable anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think…” Yennefer begins slowly, letting out the air of her chest. “That I am seeing what’s been in front of me all along. What I’ve been too stubborn to see.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Yennefer leans in to capture Tissaia’s lips finally, two hands stop her movement to do so. She flutters her eyes open, feels desperation and anguish boil. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I said that choice is the greatest thing we are given. I am making one now,” Tissaia says in the exact way she imagines the woman has broken every heart that’s fallen for her for hundreds of years. “Let’s finish the ceremonial bath.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She places her hands on Yennefer’s shoulders firmer, guiding her off of her hips and to settle at her feet on the steps to the pool. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yennefer’s eyes lose focus and she splashes back into the water, feeling the heat of it lapping against her hips. Feels the draining away of a similar heat between her thighs. It feels odd to feel like she’s lost something she never had at all. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Part IV: The Wedding</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The bath had been...difficult. So much so that it has put Tissaia in a haze for the remainder of the time she spends at Aretuza before portaling away to the land of Rivia. </p><p>Her mind wanders constantly, slips back to the fraught moments having Yennefer stark and uncovered above her. Of having her asking her to tear reality away and delve into a dream where the two of them could come together somehow. </p><p>And to think, she’d had to touch her after that! Had to grab the cloth and be the mature woman with no desires or feelings—nothing at all. </p><p>She grips the quill tighter, screws her eyes shut, and rides along in the still fresh imagery of what occurred. Of how the robe had looked flowing to the ground, revealing Yennefer slowly and all at once. </p><p>Of how she had to bite back a noise, work it down her throat so that it could never be heard. The way Yennefer had hovered over her, the way the water droplets from her wet hair had clung to the pads of Tissaia’s fingers. The dark truth about how her eyes had taken in everything, not just the definition of the collarbone that had been in front of her face for longer than it should have, right there for the taking. </p><p>Yennefer and her supple breasts, the nipples dusky and risen from the air. The slope down to the flat plane of her belly and tapering out to her shapely hips. And Tissaia, gods help her, couldn’t even refrain from looking at where those slender legs came together. </p><p>She sighs and wipes a hand along her brow, feels the beginning of beads there. She is not this type of woman. She cannot be. Tissaia, in all of her life, has never been a covetous woman. If she didn’t have it, it was not meant to be. </p><p>Suddenly though, this unpleasant want is taking over the entirety of her being. Images pull forth from the absolute recesses of her thinking, of jagged electrical force shooting from her fingertips, of it striking a gleaming silver sword held by a man with hair of the same. Of having to pull every spell and work every move of her dagger to counteract mumbled words like <em> aard, quen, yrden, igni, axii. </em></p><p>A shudder runs through her, a fool for even entertaining such thoughts. Yennefer has stated her intentions to marry the witcher. (even if her actions have provided some discretion to the contrary) She will honor that. She must. </p><p>So goes the way of the remaining hours before she grabs the covered dress she is to wear to walk Yennefer down the aisle and pass her over to a man. It feels heavy when she lifts it, the weight of what she’s headed toward stifling. </p><p>She catches her reflection in the mirror, sees the hint of darkness under her eyes. Rubs her face with her free hand. <em> I’ll not let this age me beyond my years. </em> </p><p>Once she steps out onto Rivian soil, she looks around with a blink. Instead of looking at the rising peaks, the soft glow of the morning tinging the outline of it with yellows and oranges, she thinks about what lies over the border. </p><p>Aedirn. Vengerberg. </p><p>It was a chilly day when she’d rented a cart and horse, driven it to the signature of the chaos she’d felt. It had been necessary not to draw attention to herself but the couple had known what she was from the moment of arrival. </p><p><em> Witch </em>, she’d been called then. Tissaia had never held it against the woman. After all, it was not far off the mark. The male had been wary but willing to bargain (she’s always refrained from calling him a father. He was not that in the least) The mother, however, had spoken it as she saw it. </p><p>The start of something, of a life to never be the same. In those purple eyes, Tissaia has lost herself time and time again. Lost control. Lost reason. Lost the ability to do as she’s always done with everyone else. Barely having the wherewithal to look Yennefer in those same alluring eyes and tell her the opposite of what she wants to hear.</p><p>“You’ve dragged me all across this continent, Yennefer,” Tissaia sighs, remembering. Somehow, she knows she’d have it no other way though. </p><p>She makes her way to one of the red thatched roofs of the lower city, sitting below the rising spires of the King’s abode. It’s simple but clean, and Tissaia lays down the covered dress while looking around the room. </p><p>One she must stay in for preparations that afternoon only. It is reserved for the night, but she already knows she will glide into the ensconcing night when it arrives and Yennefer officially belongs to someone else. </p><p>Tissaia is a very strong woman. That, however, she cannot bear to watch for longer than she must. </p><p>Surely, the future will not call for her to do so either. She doesn’t imagine Yennefer will seek her out much after the nuptials are finalized. She will be much too busy with her new marriage to cause mischief and mayhem. Perhaps that reprieve, however small, will help Tissaia navigate through the world yet to come. </p><p>Idly, she wonders if Triss and Sabrina have arrived. Margarita had received an invite but declined so as to let Tissaia attend and not leave Aretuza unsupervised. There is also the looming question of the rest of the guest list. </p><p>Tissaia comes to the conclusion that it will probably be a small affair, considering who the respective bride and groom are. But then the word <em> affair </em> sticks in her hotly. </p><p><em> You’ve said little and done nothing </em>. </p><p>But somehow, she feels as if she’s ruined everything. Shame has a spot inside of her body and how on Earth is she going to stand across from the witcher and not have the story of her and Yennefer written across her face?</p><p>The hours leading up to the ceremony go by quickly. Tissaia gets dressed in the attire Yennefer selected for her to wear. She will never forget the look on her face as she’d watched Tissaia in it. How it had been her this time who had pressed behind and let out “stunning.”</p><p>“We make a striking picture, don’t you think?” Yennefer had run a hand along the material, the silky dress fanning out all around, and then let it head across the lining of her chest.</p><p>With sheer sleeves and v-neckline that dipped to the swell of Tissaia’s bust, the gray matching the circular middle of the anemone flowers Yennefer eventually chose. </p><p>“We do,” Tissaia had agreed then. Adding paint to her lips and a little color to her cheeks, she tries not to think of that now. </p><p>Last, she slides on a set of long dangling earrings, a matching necklace that draws attention to the neckline but also hides a bit of skin, which Tissaia is grateful for. Slipping on her shoes, she makes her way out of the room and to nearby where she knows Yennefer is. </p><p>She announces herself with a knock but doesn’t wait for more than a few moments before twisting the knob and sliding into the room. </p><p>In the middle of it, Yennefer stands in front of a mirror, her body reflected back. She’s almost nude, a thin scrap covering very little of her shapely bottom only and her breasts free. Not even trying to cover herself, she shifts her eyes to see Tissaia standing at the door. She looks stricken. </p><p>This propels Tissaia forward to come to stand beside her. Neither of them speaks for a while, Yennefer’s scrutiny of her more than unnerving. Her eyes travel from the fanned out silk to the crafted torso of it. She smiles brightly. </p><p>“I know I’ve seen you in this already but Tissaia, you are a vision.” Everything about her is warm and radiant. </p><p>Until it isn’t. The smile flickers off of her face. Tissaia finds herself losing hers too, one she didn’t even recognize she’d done. “What is it?”</p><p>“It’s the happiest day of my life, right?” She looks in the mirror again, traces a hand across her chest, down her breasts to her stomach. Tissaia watches it. “Then why do I feel nothing but petrified?”</p><p>To busy herself with anything other than looking at Yennefer mostly bare, (again. Does she have no qualms about her body anymore?) she walks to Yennefer’s dress draped over the chair and picks it up.</p><p>“Let’s get you ready for the ceremony,” she tries for her best, unaffected voice, her most sincere smile.</p><p>Somehow, it feels like just going through the motions, her own body moving by muscle memory alone. Yennefer looks far off somewhere, distant. Tissaia knows exactly how she could touch her to bring her back. </p><p>It will never come though. </p><p>They’ve been through three weeks of preparation for this event, have resisted whatever is brewing between them. If it’s not boiled over yet, perhaps it is not meant to be. Maybe the resistance that’s occurred, the lack of tipping over into desire, has set Yennefer up well. She can enter into her marriage with clean hands. </p><p>Or at least clean in relation to Tissaia’s own. She’s refrained from doing anything out of line, only just toeing the boundary of no return. She shudders internally. Not a very sage thing to do from a woman of her age or experience. </p><p>When Yennefer has donned her wedding dress, brushed her curled hair to the side and Tissaia has fixed her veil to head, they both stand quietly for a few moments, the weight of what they’re walking toward stalling them out. </p><p>“Tissaia, I…”</p><p>“Yennefer, I…”</p><p>Both are begun at the same time, both cut off exactly in tandem too. They both taper off and Tissaia tries to find Yennefer’s eyes through the gauzy fabric of the veil. </p><p>She reaches to touch her, a gentle hand on her arm. There are a thousand things she could say right now, many that fit the time honored act of sending a woman off into the land of marriage. </p><p>
  <em> What would a mother say now? What should I tell Yennefer that she needs to hear?  </em>
</p><p>The thing of it is, Tissaia has never been very maternal and she’s felt the emotion least of all with Yennefer. From the moment she laid eyes upon her, no emotion screamed at her to care for Yennefer like a child of her own.</p><p>“I’ve not thought of you as a daughter throughout our many years,” Tissaia brushes her fingers along Yennefer’s arm, tracking the movement with her eyes. </p><p>“I suppose that’s a good thing since you've been shite at it.” Yennefer’s tone is joking, buoyant, and Tissaia smiles. Then it flickers and she has to wrap her fingers more tightly. </p><p>“You know what I mean.” The seriousness pervades where there had once been gaiety. She’s tasked with giving this woman away, saying goodbye for what truly feels like the last time. It cracks her own heart into. </p><p>“I do,” Yennefer answers but then sucks in a breath. They both have startled at the words. </p><p>Thus begins the haze, as Tissaia will come to refer to it. </p><p>Somehow, they manage to leave the room. Tissaia walks behind Yennefer on the way to the parting of trees where the ceremony will occur. When they reach the area, Tissaia watches Yennefer stall and then turn around, searching for her. </p><p>The loud thudding in her heart travels up to her ears and her throat is clogged. So odd that irrationally, tears actually start somewhere in the throat, a response to having to hold in emotion from sloshing over. </p><p>“I need you,” Yennefer says, a reflection of words she’s spoken before. </p><p>Tissaia wants to fold into her. And how easy it would be to do so. But not doing something sometimes takes greater courage than giving in, in the taking of something out of want. For all the things Tissaia has had to do in her life, out of everything she’s had to endure, lacing her arm with Yennefer and walking her toward the witcher (<em> Geralt </em>. The name makes her ache too) is the hardest thing she’s ever had to do. </p><p>She’d take a thousand lungfuls of dimeritium, a thousand nights of anguish over worrying about Yennefer and where she was or what she was doing or if she was in trouble versus the absolute torture of having to hand her over to someone else. </p><p><em> I love her </em>, Tissaia thinks sadly. And with each movement of her feet closer to the end of something and the beginning of another, that feeling has never been more acute. </p><p>This isn’t the first time she’s felt it. It’s neither strange nor foreign. It’s Yennefer’s gaze and Yennefer’s smile, and Yennefer’s stubbornness. It’s her passion and her brashness and the way she can tip Tissaia’s world on its end. All of these things, a collection of Yennefer in Tissaia’s heart.</p><p>And she passes her off to someone else. </p><p>A part of Tissaia thinks she feels Yennefer hesitate to let go. That maybe this causes her to hold on a little tighter, her fingers dragging in the separation. That maybe yellow eyes watch her with more observance than they ever should. </p><p>Over to the side, slightly away from the group gathered, Tissaia can see the bread and salt, the small glasses of water and drink. She watches Yennefer shift her dress over one of Geralt’s feet, him still eyeing Tissaia. She can almost hear Yennefer’s satisfied smile between their minds, but she cannot add her own as she stands tall despite the man’s scrutiny of her. </p><p>She wants to raise an eyebrow, shrug, be a different woman and say “Go on and look at me. What stands beside you isn’t really yours.” But Tissaia is not that kind of person, so she closes off her emotions and becomes the ice of her last name. </p><p>Her head jerks when she hears a gruff ‘yes’ and her heart somersaults out of her chest, swan diving to her feet. It’s Yennefer’s turn to repeat the word.</p><p>But it doesn’t come at the needed point. Geralt’s jaw works, no doubt gritting his teeth. The whole procession around them stays deadly quiet, making it easy for everyone to hear his harsh whisper. </p><p>“Yen,” he entreats. But this time, Yennefer is looking over to where Tissaia stands. “Do I even need to ask why you hesitate? I thought we wanted this.”</p><p>Everything narrows and it feels like walls are closing in. Why does it feel like her own guilt has become a shroud? What happened to the things she told herself before now? Where has the control gone from them?</p><p>A cough erupts, not unlike the one she’s hacked a thousand times before. It’s a familiar croak, one that feels similar to the blue-iridescence that once seemed to adhere to her insides like tar. Making a gesture, she does her best to excuse herself. </p><p><em> Side effect </em> and <em> Sodden </em> are two things she catches as she retreats. The body-shaking severity of it dissipates fairly quickly after she turns, but she moves faster away from the scene. It’s easy to feel every pair of eyes watching her, most prominent being the two sets with uncommon hues.</p><p>The loch out of the thicket of trees looks lovely this evening, even if Tissaia’s melancholia is dragging her steps. The surface of the water is calmer, much more placid than inside of her own body. Her gray dress fans out as she sits on the ground, wrapping her arms around her knees and stretching her legs a little. </p><p>Her chest hurts but not because of the coughing spell. She loses herself in what might be happening right this moment from whence she came. The consuming of the salt and bread, the jovial arguing back and forth over which cup who gets, one filled with water and the other with spirit. One meant to symbolize the submissive mate, the other the dominant. </p><p>Tissaia lets out a crying laugh, tears tangling the sound up. There is no easy-going soul in that union. For as much as they may love one another, no one will ever be the sole victor or leader in the pair. This could either work for their great benefit, always standing shoulder to shoulder and ready for whatever. Or it could be their great downfall. </p><p>Despite what her own heart wishes for herself, she truly hopes that Yennefer can figure it out with her witcher. She has little in the way of evidence to prove he is an ill-suited partner for Yennefer, even less to hold against him as a person. The simple fact remains that her only qualm with him is that he possesses the one thing she’s learning she’s never wanted more now than in her entire life. </p><p>In a ripple of water, Tissaia catches her own reflection. It holds more than she can bear to stare at, so she leans against her arms, resting her head on them. </p><p>She’s a guilty woman. She wants more than she can have. Yennefer is married and that is the way of things. It isn’t fair to hang on when she’s only realized the truth of herself during the announcement of the bann. </p><p><em> You’ve been telling Yennefer goodbye for years. This is no different. </em> The thought lodges in her. <em> This is just another type of goodbye.  </em></p><p>Reaching down, she palms a pebble and casts it out across the water. The pink and purple cloud picture from above ripples on the top of it as it bounces along. Eventually, it sinks. Tissaia feels a kinship with it. She’s doing her own type of drowning. </p><p>Her head tilts, wandering along mentally. Does the witcher have grace when he dances? Does he loosen up a bit with drink? Can he feel the merriment of what’s in front of him, agreeing to a life?</p><p>Not only life but a grand one at that. Adventure. A new horizon at every sun up and sundown. Monsters, mayhem, little monotony. Tissaia wipes a hand along her face, rubbing. What a fool she was to ever offer Yennefer a teaching position. </p><p>Yennefer is a liver of life, a lover, and a fighter. She’s not meant to be tethered in the way she would be if Tissaia could keep the woman by her side.</p><p>“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you brood,” an amused voice sounds beside her and she jerks her attention to where it’s come from. </p><p>In all of her radiant beauty, Yennefer sits, dress fanned out across the ground and the loch lapping at her bare toes. Her shoes sit close by and Tissaia startles a bit. </p><p>“You’ll ruin your dress!” she exclaims and leans over to pick it up off the ground. Yennefer meets her as she lunges, batting her hands half-heartedly away. Then Tissaia stills. “Why have you left your reception?”</p><p>“Well, about that…” she trails off. Cants her head. “I wondered where you’d gotten off to.”</p><p>Tissaia leans back and grunts. Wonders about Yennefer’s upcoming life of the sound. “You were foolish. Leaving your own wedding to know of my whereabouts when you simply could have called out telepathically.”</p><p>“And you’d have answered? Would have let me in? Hardly,” Yennefer rolls her eyes. </p><p>“The only reason I’ve not let you into my head very often is that you tend to pry when you are…” she stops midway through the mini tirade. </p><p>The absence of a band across Yennefer’s finger has startled her into silence. Her own hands reach out and rake across the expanse of unadorned skin, thumb tracing where the ring should be. <em> Should be.  </em></p><p>“Yennefer, where is it? What have you done?” she asks warily and her voice cracks. </p><p>“In a way, I feel as if I’ve failed you,” Yennefer sighs while watching the lazy way Tissaia plays with the crook of her fingers. “You got me all clean and dressed up in this gown. The next logical step in this chain of events would have been for my groom to take me to bed and sexual acts are performed.”</p><p>Everything hitches inside of Tissaia. She knows where Yennefer has been and with whom. She loves her anyway. </p><p>Yennefer pushes past Tissaia’s touch, bringing her hand to her cheek. She tilts her head and her eyes are soft, clear. “Would you be the one to let me feel you inside of me?” </p><p>Tissaia cannot help the gasp of air that comes from her, a gushing rush. “That makes a union binding, if intent is felt by even one party.” She looks down at her lap. “You know this. You were prepared for another.”</p><p>“Tissaia, I was meant for you,” Yennefer leans in, her hand crossing Tissaia’s body and resting on the ground beside her hip. The other finds its way back to trace the curve of her high cheekbone. “And I want to be with you, even though I am perhaps discovering a bit late that this is something I very much want.”</p><p>The guilt of earlier is now ten-fold. “I’ve done this,” Tissaia says in anguish. “I’ve ruined your wedding day. Oh, Yennefer. I’m so incredibly sorry.”</p><p>“Tissaia, you saved me from it.” A pause. “Do you love me?” Yennefer whispers. </p><p>And here they are again. Tissaia could create subterfuge, could say that love has many forms. That she is not well versed in any of them because she’s never had the desire to craft them in the way they need to be. </p><p>But Yennefer is here, asking the question point-blank. She has no part of her that wants to deny that her heart does feel. </p><p>“I have loved you from the second I saw you,” Tissaia lets Yennefer know for the first time in her life. Her hand goes to Yennefer’s bicep. “Yenna, I’m so in love with you, I’m lost to it. How could I have not known?”</p><p>“Let us not go another breath in this life without knowing of one another’s kiss,” Yennefer’s words get covered up with Tissaia’s mouth, the act of initiation robbed from her too.</p><p>She surges forward, mindless of who might be watching. Of who has been left behind.<em> It’s not me this time</em>, is what she thinks, but even the guilt doesn’t come now. </p><p>Tissaia becomes someone who kisses a man’s woman in his homeland. But no, that isn’t right. <em> Because now she’s mine. </em>The way that swells her chest with pride is astounding. She has effectively swept Yennefer off of her feet somehow. (it seems crazy when she’s done so little)</p><p>So she kisses her like there will be no tomorrows and the past has been unrelenting. Before she knows it, she’s being pushed down into the small pebbles and grass of the loch, Yennefer throwing a leg over her hips. The wedding dress she will never use is bunched to her thighs now.</p><p>Tissaia doesn’t even ask, just reaches out to touch them because she wants to. And she guesses she’s that kind of woman now too. </p><p>Now Yennefer swoops and their lips are as they always should have been: together. After a while though, the pressing of their lips is too heated, too close to something else. Yennefer’s fingers are exploring, trailing, and Tissaia has to shoot out her own hand to still the other woman’s when it skims underneath the neckline of her dress, touching the creamy flesh of Tissaia’s rounded breast.</p><p>“Wait,” she manages to choke out. Miraculously. Somehow. </p><p>Yennefer leans back onto her haunches, staring down at Tissaia and waiting. She’s giving Tissaia the patience she’s never had. It endears Tissaia to her evermore. </p><p>“I’ve done little right in my life,” Tissaia swallows, the words hard to get out. “Let me do this correctly though.” She pushes herself up on her elbows and then to her palms. The tiny pebbles around the edge of the water press into her hands. “Yennefer, please let me take you somewhere and make love to you, to make you mine.”</p><p>“And you’re writing a book on magic?” Yennefer tsks and shakes her head. Leans in. Tissaia’s heart flutters. “You should have been writing one of poetry.” </p><p>Yennefer kisses her again, deep and full of the longing of their entire lives. Her hands press into the curves of Tissaia’s hips, behind the coiled hair at the nape of her neck. </p><p>There are a right many things Tissaia is good at. Running a school, teaching magic. She doesn’t know if she’s good at what Yennefer has asked for, of what she has too. It’s this other fear that rises to the surface, presenting and making itself known. </p><p>“We love each other, yes?” Yennefer nuzzles Tissaia’s cheek, glides her nose along skin that makes Tissaia feel like she’s sitting inside of a beautiful dream. </p><p>Threading her fingers through Yennefer’s curled hair, Tissaia brings her head up and locks their eyes. “I didn’t know if it was reciprocated.”</p><p>“I left my wedding to be with you. Of course, I feel the same way.” As if to prove her point, Yennefer’s hand moves from Tissaia’s hip and slides across her thigh, wedging between her legs. </p><p>She applies just a hint of pressure, a sampling of what she has to offer, that has Tissaia gasping and shifting her own hand down to still Yennefer’s idealism. </p><p>“We need to be elsewhere. And quickly,” Tissaia pants, feels the heat of Yennefer’s fingers. Wonders how she will not fold over inside of herself when there’s nothing between Yennefer and her own skin. </p><p>Tissaia should be able to predict the ostentatious behavior from the woman above her who holds her heart, but she finds a cry ripping through her throat as Yennefer speaks Elder fluidly and fast, opening a portal underneath them with a cheeky grin. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>For the first time ever, choose the ending: 1) sweet feelings and keep the T rating 2) get smutty and write my first E story for Yennaia 3) Do a combo of both and bump this up to M</p><p>(I started working on the last part and was doing more 2...but then I was like “uh, maybe not? Idk.” So, help.)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Part V: Everything That Comes After</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Yennefer and Tissaia get their happy ending</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Right, sorry about not updating the last part until now. First, it was writer's block. Then I had some health issues spring up (which are still ongoing) and then I was experiencing the Snowpocalypse part of the U.S. last week. But, finally, here we are: the end.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After years, after too much time wondering and perhaps even hoping somewhere at the back of her mind, Yennefer expects the two of them to come together like an explosion. </p><p>Sorceresses and sorcerers are constantly in one another’s arms, even some of the same sex occasionally too. But none as powerful as Tissaia, none so volatile as Yennefer. </p><p>However, the second they fall through Yennefer’s portal, the uncertainty of how to proceed forward with the things they both want hits full force.</p><p>They land with an unceremonious thump to the floor of Tissaia’s quarters at Aretuza. Yennefer winces when Tissaia grips her arms forcefully as they land. </p><p>“Could we have not had a smoother landing?” the woman (absolute love of Yennefer’s life) wheezes a little at the weight pressed on top of her. Yennefer’s dead weight.</p><p>Shuffling off, Yennefer apologizes. “Sorry, love.” She works to smooth down a little of Tissaia’s hair that has gotten jumbled in the fray. Rising off of her, she extends a hand downward and lifts Tissaia up when she grips it firmly. </p><p>They stand toe to toe, hesitant of what comes next. Yennefer is even lost on how to ease into this instead of whisking away everything that reminds her of the thing she left behind. She glances at the bed behind them. </p><p>“Are you sure?” It’s a question she’s never asked in her entire life. But the mixture of fear and desire on Tissaia’s face, the love in her own heart, makes her ask for clarification.</p><p>“Yes,” Tissaia whispers, an accompanying nod not far behind it. </p><p>Yennefer is grateful but senses that they’ve still got no starting point. Possibility has stalled them out. For the greatest sorceresses on the Continent, the irony to it would be amusing if Yennefer wasn’t throbbing in places. </p><p>She steps closer. “Take my dress off, Tissaia.” Maybe a command will be the kick in the sides they both need. </p><p>Shaking hands reach up, Tissaia’s vision fixed on the sheer fabric across Yennefer’s chest. Instead of pushing it off of Yennefer’s shoulders, she flips her hand over and runs a thumb along the sweeping swell of Yennefer’s breasts.</p><p>It’s simple. It’s the thought of it being Tissaia’s fingers that about sends Yennefer through the roof. Her mouth releases the truth of it into the air on a gasp. </p><p>Hands wrap around Yennefer’s hips then, pressing hard. Tissaia pulls them together and leans forward. Yennefer closes her eyes awaiting a kiss that never comes. </p><p>That’s because Tissaia drops to her knees, propping one up and then sweeping Yennefer’s dress aside to grip a smooth leg, bending it to rest on her own raised one. Another sliding of fabric as Tissaia pushes it up and to the side. Enough to push her lips into the skin she’s revealed. </p><p>Yennefer is trying very hard to wait, to hang on, to not ruck her dress up and away. But she doesn’t have to voice that because for as wonderful as Tissaia’s tarrying up Yennefer’s calf with fingers and mouth is, she’s shoving her own hands up with intent.</p><p>The dress flutters away, a blob of meaningless fabric that Yennefer knows she’ll never think of again. She stands in her undergarments, chest heaving. Waiting for the greatest thing she’s ever had the pleasure of receiving. </p><p>(Tissaia. Tissaia always, forever, neverending) </p><p>Small hands remove the articles one by one, neatly laying them on the chair nearby. Yennefer stands bare. Tissaia stands immobile in awe. </p><p>Yennefer feels inspiration strike. “Remove your own now and meet me on your bed.”</p><p>Her own awe fluctuates as she crawls onto the bed and watches Tissaia do as she’s been asked. Soon, she’s standing equally uncovered, but she seems reluctant to enter the space Yennefer occupies, despite her only moments ago boldness. </p><p>“Round to your side. I’ll wait.” Again, this is done in silence as Tissaia goes to the opposite side. Yennefer watches her petite form make the trek, the glory of her like this not lost on Yennefer at all. </p><p>Tissaia slides into the bed and surprisingly, moves closer to Yennefer so that their thighs are touching. Yennefer sees that the woman isn’t even trying to hide her gaze between her legs. </p><p>Yennefer turns then, one leg drawn up. Her face contorts. What she’s about to ask sounds ridiculous in her own head. She says it anyway. </p><p>“Will you hold me?” Because even though this is her choice, Tissaia is her decision, she’s had a fairly disconcerting day too. </p><p>She does not relish wounding hearts, even if her own is soaring. That is what the world doesn’t understand about her. No part of her is as callous as they believe. Or that she would have had them think at one point. </p><p>“Of course,” Tissaia looks as if she melts. She opens her own legs, lets Yennefer enter them, and press her naked back against Tissaia’s naked front. </p><p>At first, Yennefer only holds her hand. She locks it tightly against her heart and lines up their fingers atop one another just so. </p><p>The warmth of the room, the heat of Tissaia’s body, lull Yennefer into a sense of security she’s not felt in ages, not even in someone else’s arms. Being in Tissaia’s is the absolute best. </p><p>With her other hand, Tissaia brushes Yennefer’s hair between them, leans down to plant light kisses along the exposed flesh of her left shoulder. “Can I touch you?” </p><p>This is a question that doesn’t need words for an answer. Yennefer takes Tissaia’s hand against her heart and moves it south until it can be situated to cup her breast. When it does, she hisses, writhes, and immediately wants more. </p><p>“Tell me what you want,” is something weighty and good in Yennefer’s ear and she’s back in an inn room, smearing red to her lips and pretending that Tissaia’s presence behind her isn’t having the exact effect it’s having right now. </p><p>Yennefer would have taken her then, blurred out the bodies around her until there was only that chaise and Tissaia squirming underneath her. </p><p>“Everything.” Because it’s still the answer, just toward all that Tissaia has to offer. Yennefer wants the woman to crack herself open, let it all flow. </p><p>~<em> You’ll never change </em></p><p>~<em> You’ll love me anyway </em></p><p>Yennefer feels Tissaia’s body shake behind her, a laugh overtaking her. “Yes.” She agrees. “Show me.”</p><p>Her hand falls away from Yennefer’s breast, a small nudge to Yennefer’s hand the next touch landing. She knows what Tissaia is telling her to do, so she does. </p><p>There’s no resistance (Yennefer knows as soon as her fingers land, Tissaia had expected it—for Yennefer’s body to not yield because Yennefer hasn’t in her entire life. Doubting Yennefer’s response to her.) <em> That’s right </em> , Yennefer thinks. <em> You warm me up that much.  </em></p><p>Really, Tissaia is supposed to be where Yennefer is. She’d asked it of her after all. But Tissaia seems content to watch and Yennefer decides that’s okay too. So she lies back into it all and loses herself a bit. </p><p>Just when she’s well on her way, a sensation prickles at her fingers, and then Tissaia is weaving her own in the divots that Yennefer’s hand creates.</p><p>Logistically, Tissaia can’t be feeling much of anything, but she helps Yennefer set a rhythm. Just like their dance, she’s sounding off the steps that Yennefer needs to follow to achieve what she’s chasing. When she’s peeking at the edge, she lets Tissaia know. Wonders if the steps will be easy then too. </p><p>“I’m—Tissaia…”</p><p>She moves her hand to the center of her sensation, the other gripping Tissaia’s slender thigh. A cry escapes her throat when, just as she tips, she feels Tissaia move to sheath herself inside of her. Yennefer grips her fiercely. </p><p>It takes a few moments for the haze to wear off, to realize she’s sat up straight-backed and that Tissaia is having to strain her reach. Gingerly, she uses her hand too to extricate Tissaia from her body. The emptiness she feels afterward is bittersweet—the longing in the space of the loss staggering but the ability to have this again is a beautiful possibility. </p><p>Yennefer turns her head to the side to nuzzle Tissaia’s, knowing that it’s her turn to shower the woman with the physical embodiment of the contents of her heart. </p><p>When she turns, a rogue shot of want hits her between her thighs—so soon too—because Tissaia is touching herself, taking her pleasure into her own control as well. </p><p>“You’ll not keep me from being a part of this,” Yennefer reminds. They never have to be alone again. Not in the whole damn world, not when they’re in a room together and struggling to stay apart. <em> Never ever. </em></p><p>So while Tissaia lays back and tilts her head toward the sky, her focus more centrally located, Yennefer slides down and puts her mouth where Tissaia’s fingers fail to work. </p><p>They may never write books together like she and Margarita, but Yennefer knows that the coupling they’re creating here will be greater than words ever put to page. The other sorceress can have Tissaia for that if Yennefer gets to scribe their love story like this, on knees and hands and back and all of it in between. </p><p>“Your thoughts are loud and lascivious and I’ve never heard anything more wonderful in all of my life,” Tissaia huffs out, laughs disconnectedly (astonished still), and then punctures the air with a pin of a moan. </p><p>“With all my intent, from this moment on. From the ones that have built and the ones that will come,” Yennefer kisses Tissaia’s thighs. “You are mine on every sunrise, at the hanging of every moon.”</p><p>“Maybe you’re good at your own poetry,” Tissaia chokes out, and then she’s gone. <em> Goodbye, lover, </em>Yennefer smirks and then just waits. </p><p>//———//</p><p>Yennefer has never been good with lessons, but she learns the ways to treat Tissaia’s body, how to treat her own when they’re together. Everything they do creates the night for them, their arms never straying far from holding one another somehow. </p><p>There’s something in the watching too that Yennefer learns she likes. How they can lay beside one another, free for their eyes to roam but their hands preoccupied with themselves. Even though their thighs and hips press against one another, they stave off touch until they absolutely can’t do so anymore. </p><p>Of course, Yennefer is the first to break, the first to reach her climax, and roll to touch any part of Tissaia she can feel without interrupting the woman’s climb. </p><p>She kisses the parts that won’t impede her—her clavicle notch on the side she’s not using her hand on, to the side of her breast and under it, finally capturing it between her teeth. And when Tissaia tips, Yennefer pulls away and watches the way her face looks, something else unforgettable because it’s the most uninhibited Yennefer has ever seen her. </p><p>What a treasure it is to be able to witness, to know that it is Tissaia’s response to Yennefer, of her no longer wrapped desire that has a place to go. The importance of the woman below Yennefer’s fingertips is infinite, the very soul she’s been searching for her entire life. Right here, waiting. </p><p>Improbably, unbelievably, they’re clashing together again, on the heels of temporary satiation. But some part of Yennefer feels like she’ll never get enough of Tissaia, no matter how much she scrapes or clings to desperately. She’s so adept at losing. She wants to deposit Tissaia in her heart forever. </p><p>Suddenly, Yennefer wishes there was some other way to show Tissaia the boundless depth of her heart. Some other way to use her fingers or her mouth or, or…something, some way to get as close as she can to Tissaia. </p><p>She rises to her knees, throws a leg over either side of Tissaia, and moves to meld them together. Both of Tissaia’s thighs are underneath her and even though Yennefer is sensitive to anything below, she needs this again just as much as she did the first time. </p><p>Her hips move without much connection to her brain, thoughts hazy and the delirium of love settling in. Then Tissaia’s palms are pushing into her hips, setting the pace of the way Yennefer moves. It makes her look down, Tissaia’s face even with her chest. </p><p>“Tell me what it feels like,” comes out of Tissaia’s mouth and Yennefer finds she doesn’t know how to respond. </p><p>“Nice but I need...more.” A solid tug to her hair tells her that’s not exactly the right response. In a night of completely new things, this is too, having Tissaia’s fingers threaded through the dark strands and trying to pry something out of her she lacks the words for.</p><p>
  <em> There you are, Rectoress. My filled with fire, Tissaia.  </em>
</p><p>This is the woman Yennefer assumed she would find in bed, not the deferential one of two orgasms ago. Maybe with every one, Tissaia is finding her footing so to speak. Yennefer bucks, lets Tissaia push her down to gain friction. </p><p>“You say you need more, but I need to hear you.” As if embarrassed by her admission, Tissaia hides her face a little in the dip of Yennefer’s chest. </p><p>“Like I want everything I feel for you, every single ounce of love I have, to be apparent with the way I move my body.” She reaches down to manipulate Tissaia’s fingers. “The way my eyes crave to see your form.” </p><p>Tissaia’s fingers trace her lids and outline the curve of her lips with Yennefer’s guidance. “My mouth loves kissing you and it can’t wait to do so absolutely everywhere.” She drags Tissaia’s fingers down her neck and chest, across her heart. “You know what’s in here already.”</p><p>“Tell me again,” Tissaia whispers. Her eyes look up at Yennefer, slightly glassy. “Please.”</p><p>“I love you so much.” Yennefer’s words crack and she envelopes Tissaia in her arms. </p><p>They simply hold one another for a while. Moments extend-beautiful ones-where they are just in each other’s arms and there is no sound or movement at all. There’s the press of their bodies against one another, the faint whisper of breath on inhale and exhale. </p><p>This is the way it’s supposed to be, Yennefer thinks. Just her and Tissaia—nothing else. “I’m so glad I get to keep you,” Yennefer hugs her tightly, feels her everywhere. </p><p>Even after everything, Tissaia is still not the best at bringing forth what she feels even though she’s asked it of Yennefer. However, there is time to learn and Yennefer supposes they both have it. </p><p>She watches as Tissaia lays back onto her pillow and Yennefer goes to follow but is held firmly in place stretched over Tissaia’s hips. A hand moves along the curve of her, the small fingers full of encompassing need. Tissaia guides Yennefer so that their centers are touching. </p><p>“Can you come like this?” Tissaia implores, her voice small and hesitant. As if to clarify, she shifts below Yennefer so that the focal point of their nerves, of their pleasures, brush against one another. “Gods, Yennefer…” Her eyes roll back in her head and Yennefer finds herself tilting back. </p><p>“I don’t know.” She’s never done this, not really. Only the conventional methods are a part of her repertoire when it comes to sexual pleasure, hands, and the typical parts of the male anatomy. </p><p>To test the probability of it, she begins to move in earnest. And she tries, truly. Everything does feel wonderful and there’s the tendril floating through her brain that tells her she’s the luckiest person on the earth because she’s touching Tissaia like this and who has had the absolute luck to feel her like this? Tissaia doesn’t seem like the type to let many in, in any way, so Yennefer thanks whatever forces that have brought them together.</p><p>“It’s not enough, is it?” Tissaia asks when Yennefer has created creases between her brows, when there is a sheen to her flesh that coats her like a second skin.</p><p>No, it’s not enough, but she wants it to be and why, why does she feel embarrassed that it’s the truth? Being with someone new, taking a lover, means learning how to touch and create and that’s what tonight is all about. </p><p>Yennefer can’t help but feel like she’s let Tissaia down when she shakes her head. Sitting up again, Tissaia wraps an arm around Yennefer’s torso, places her hand underneath Yennefer’s hips, dragging her fingers across the wetness she finds there. </p><p>Her small body shudders and she lets out a groan as she presses those fingers into Yennefer’s bundle of nerves with nothing but purpose, not quite pinching but rolling her roughly and quickly between the pads. </p><p>There are a lot of things Yennefer has experienced in her life that she’s found surprise in—most of them from the woman working her body like she’s known it all along, applying just the right amount of pressure, moving in such a way that has Yennefer’s head spinning.</p><p>“It’s not fair you know me so well,” Yennefer huffs but with no resentment bending her words. Another piece of quiet astonishment to sew with threaded words to connect them ever closer still.</p><p>“It’s because I know you so well that when we come together, it’s its own kind of magic,” Tissaia kisses along the notch of her sternum, the valley of her breasts.</p><p>The tips of her fingers warm against Yennefer, who sucks in a breath at their touch against her. She wrenches Tissaia’s head away from her skin, looks down in wonder. “Tissaia…” because in Yennefer’s desperate chase, Tissaia has cast some heat into her hands that, paired with the slick, is warming Yennefer to her very core.</p><p>“Since I am an ‘old dog,’ I thought I might try to push aside any doubt of my not being able to learn a ‘new trick.’”</p><p>“First of all, I’m seriously enjoying the idea that you’ve never used that little stunt with anyone else. Second, it’s been many years since I’ve called you anything close to a canine name, so I’ll not have you besmirch your own self,” Yennefer drawls out, throwing her head back when those warm hands are just about doing her in. </p><p>“I find that hard to believe,” Tissaia goads a bit, moves her fingers with a flutter. Yennefer cannot look down at her. Her head will not move back from its pitch. “But we’ve more than enough time to make up for any of our slights against one another.” She stops and Yennefer keens.</p><p>“Tissaia,” she sounds more petulant than she intends, so close to what she is wanting. </p><p>“Yennefer, please,” Tissaia implores, weaves her fingers in the dark, spilling brown. “I’m not going anywhere, ever.”</p><p>“You think I am?” Two hands go to the side of Tissaia’s cheeks. Whatever the woman thinks, she stays mum, her blue eyes stark as she holds Yennefer’s gaze. Fine, Yennefer can wait. Something else is more pressing, so Yennefer does some pressing too by pushing Tissaia down against the sheet. “I’m not running from you, from us. You had my word.”</p><p>Yennefer glides her fingers down Tissaia’s neck, her breasts, finds the awaiting arousal between her thighs, and drags her hand through it. “You’re it for me until the end,” Yennefer bites gently against Tissaia’s chest as she works to send her to her own ending too. </p><p>//———//</p><p>The after, the after, maybe happily so, finally comes when they’re taken all they can from one another’s bodies, when they’re both limp with exhaustion and satiation. Yennefer has been filled and scooped clean. The lightless at which she floats along feels as if drifting on the air.</p><p>She runs the three middle fingers on her left hand along the curvature of Tissaia’s thighs, her knees, her calves. Little patterned pictures of lazy scrawl, something that might mean <em> Yennefer </em> in its invisibility.</p><p>Tissaia moves her pointer finger along the ridges and dips of Yennefer’s breasts. Despite being wrung out, she could lay like this for ages and drift along, her nipples harden at the prospect of being touched, a small likelihood considering how they’ve worn each other down.</p><p>“When did you know?” Yennefer asks lazily, leaning her head against her shoulder to look down the bed at where Tissaia lounges toward the head of it on her pillows. She wants to hear it again</p><p>“Know what?” Tissaia’s own voice is soft but focused. </p><p>“That the world was meant for the two of us to take on together. That the nights were meant to be spent in one another’s arms. That every fight or squabble we have had brought us to the point where you never wanted us to be separate anymore.” With each thing she speaks, the truth of it solidifies in her own chest. She has wanted all of these things too. So so long. </p><p>“Like I said, I’ve been falling in love with you since I first saw you in Vengerberg.” Tissaia looks pensive. “It’s been gradual, hardly ever clear.” Her hand moves up and down Yennefer’s ribs as she speaks. “If you hadn’t forced my hand by announcing your intentions, I don’t know how likely I would have been to admit it either.”</p><p>Yennefer knows she’s not trying to be cruel. She’s telling Yennefer this so that she understands the sheer magnitude of the changes she’s undergone in a small amount of time. Yennefer is no fool to this though. She’s in wonder of it. </p><p>“I suppose it took the idea of someone else’s ring on me to rid me of the concept of it with anyone other than you,” Yennefer shakes her head, not sullen but resolved. She can’t imagine it wrapped around the digit that’s tied to her heart, especially when the only one who’s ever lived there well is Tissaia. </p><p>Tissaia cocks her head to the side. “You’d let me wrap a band around your finger?”  Yennefer hears the prickle of doubt in it along with a lilt. </p><p>She doesn’t answer as Tissaia sits up, pulling her legs to the side and her breasts swaying in a way that Yennefer cannot help but track with her eyes as she leans over beside the bed. Tissaia takes the rumpled gray of her maid of honor dress and pulls at it between her hands. </p><p>Yennefer bolts up, holding a hand out. “Tissaia, gods, what are you doing?” But Yennefer sees that she hasn’t ripped any fabric of the actual dress itself, instead of taking the tie that went around her hips. </p><p>She rises back on her knees with the long gray strand, shuffling along on the bed then resting on her haunches. With a small flourish of her hand, the long cord of it turns into a small, thin ribbon. She motions for Yennefer to give her her hand. </p><p>Yennefer offers her left, eyes never leaving Tissaia until she starts to wrap it around her skin. She ties it off with a curled bow and spreads Yennefer’s fingers out to look at her work. Maddeningly, she says nothing and just observes. </p><p>Moving her thumb, Yennefer rubs along the underside of the silk. Tissaia continues to watch. “You tie it on me and then say nothing.” Yennefer pitches out, slightly confused as to what’s happening. </p><p>“I cannot give you a bann. I cannot go to a minister in the new churches across the Continent and ask them for you to be my wife, for you to be mine,” Tissaia looks afflicted. Her blue eyes cast up. She scoots closer so that her knees are touching the side of Yennefer’s thigh and leg. “But I can get you a ring someday, something that would mean the truths of our hearts. We could wear them,” Tissaia works through her scenario. “We could know.”</p><p>“Tissaia…” her throat is scratchy with emotion. Yennefer is not used to being told beautiful things, especially by the woman on her knees in front of her. </p><p>“Too much?” Tissaia asks with a sad smile. Yennefer surges, grabbing Tissaia by the back of her head and meeting her on her knees in a searing kiss. Finally, Tissaia breaks away. “Even though the mere idea of us together again does impossible things to me, I simply cannot go again.” </p><p>Yennefer gives her a playful shove but wraps her arm around her naked hip. “I wasn’t trying to start anything again. Hey…” she nudges Tissaia’s chin up to look at her. Shakes her head, letting the breath out of her lungs and then gathering herself back up. “That was quite possibly the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me.”</p><p>Tissaia quirks an eyebrow, leans against Yennefer’s forehead. “If something from me is your peak of romance, well then…”</p><p>“You being my wife in my heart will be the greatest joy I ever experience,” Yennefer sobers the both of them with a hand tracing Tissaia’s cheek, their heads still pressed together.</p><p>“It’s not too soon?”</p><p>‘Too much’ and ‘too soon.’ Yennefer doesn’t like this vocabulary. Why can this not be ‘too wonderful’ and ‘too perfect’ in Tissaia’s head? Because they have spent a lifetime battling, heartache or mediocrity or whatever, for them to be cup half full kind of women now. </p><p>“My love,” Yennefer soothes. “We have been preparing for this splendor our whole lives. Now that it’s here, let’s enjoy it.” She nuzzles Tissaia’s ear, whispering<em> I marry you, I marry you, I marry you </em>over and over again. </p><p>It can be this easy, just by wearing a memento of what they have together, of the life they intend to lead. To never have to be alone again and with Tissaia at that? Bliss. Pure, encompassing. </p><p>They fall back, a mess of limbs, onto the bed and burrow into one another’s form. After a while, Yennefer hears Tissaia’s sleepy murmur. “Goodnight, my wife.” She punctuates it with a kiss on Yennefer’s neck. “Here’s to tomorrow.”</p><p>The fire crackles nearby, still casting light and shadow over their bare forms. There’s a serenity that’s come with the quiet of the room, the slow pace at which time seems to be moving. Yennefer never wants any of this to end. </p><p>“And every day thereafter,” Yennefer whispers against Tissaia and hugs her even tighter.</p>
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